


From What Remains of our Dead Hearts

by DarkHeartTree



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Angst, Arya-centric, Cousin Incest, F/M, From What Remains of our Dead Hearts, Gore, Half-Sibling Incest, Love Triangles, POV First Person, Post-Apocalypse, The Last of Us — inspired, The Walking Dead — inspired, Tragedy, Unrequited Love, Violence, dead hearts, moderate smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2020-11-22 11:23:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 92,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20873402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkHeartTree/pseuds/DarkHeartTree
Summary: The outbreak of Westeros has reached its 25 year anniversary. The majority of the Westerosi population is infected with the Grey Virus. The non-infected struggle to  survive the uninhabitable diseased lands. In the North, Jon Snow leads the Black Union Establishment where they attempt to develop a vaccine. In the mainlands, there are whispers of a lethal group composed of young survivors, who many call, “The Wolf-pack.” Arya Stark, Gendry Waters, and Jon Snow, find themselves amidst immense emotional turmoil while also struggling to survive their worlds. Was their world truly a world worth living for? ... A world with enough good that the bad could be forgiven? ... Was their world really a world worth saving?





	1. Half-Heart

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: This is NOT a Jondrya fan-fiction. This fic will explore BOTH Jonrya/Gendrya extensively. If the idea of either pairing disturbs you, please click away.

Arya

I wake up to the usual gray daylight peeking inside the room. It looks darker than usual, but it’s mostly due to the trees surrounding the house. The forest house we found has three bedrooms, and is way off from the mainland and the highways. It almost seemed a miracle when we stumbled upon it. It was Weasel’s idea to walk through the Autumn forest, she wanted to see the pretty red and pink leaves. Weasel had never seen leaves such a deep red, she recalled they looked as if they were painted with fresh blood. The forest looked beautiful, peaceful, the winds made the leaves sing, and the air smelled sweet and clean. We presumed on the forest trail when none of us could find any signs of lurking _ biters_.

It was _ us_, just _us_ for the last five years. Hiking from place to place, _ killing_, thieving, and scrummaging for food and shelter. The Wolfpack: Me, Gendry, Hot Pie, Lommy, Weasel, and my wolfdog Nymeria. 

It took about ten days on foot from the mainlands to find the house. We were deep inside the forest. We slept on the crunchy leaf-covered ground in our sleeping bags, as we feasted on freshly-hunted squirrels and the remainder of our expired canned beans. Hot Pie whined the entire time about how hungry he still was. He had become so irritating that Gendry made it a habit to whack him on the head every time he opened his fat mouth. If anyone should be complaining about hunger, it was Weasel, she never ate as much as the rest of us. She was hardly nine years old, with hollow cheeks, and sticks for limbs. Her long brown hair was always fashioned into two braids, they made her look even younger, even more fragile. 

The house was empty, and new, compared to the other abandoned houses littered in the countryside. It was pretty, white, and looked as if it were built no longer than seven years ago, _give or take_. It was a great location too, there was a pristine uncontaminated pond nearby that Gendry had checked for purity. 

The house made me feel uncertain still, it was _ too _ nice, _ too _ convenient, and _ too _ alone. Gendry felt the same unease as me, I could tell by the way he kept quiet, the way he would shake his head and side-eye me. Lommy, Hot Pie, and Weasel insisted it was alright. The house was dusty enough, and the signs of life were minor. _“Whoever lived here is probably dead now,”_ Lommy stated haughtily. Although, I gave into their peer pressure, I could still feel mine and Gendry’s paranoia growing with each passing day inside the picturesque house. 

I stare out the window and see reds, pinks, oranges, and yellows. There’s no sun in the sky. I don’t recall ever seeing the sun shine, though I’ve heard stories. The world, ever since the outbreak, ever since the infection, was said to be permanently dark, and melancholy. The sun forever hid behind the clouds, almost like it was too afraid to see what’s become of its world. 

I hear Nymeria’s claws scratch the floor as she stands on all fours. She places her head on the bed and stares at me with her large golden eyes. “Hi, girl,” I say as her tail begins to wag fiercely and my face is assaulted by her tongue. “Alright, alright,” I say as I attempt to sit up with Nymeria continuing to lick my hands, face, and shoving me with her excitement. “Bloody hell, Nymeria. I haven’t gone away,” I say as I push her aside gently and finally sit up. 

I stand to stretch my limbs. Soreness wasn’t something I felt much anymore anyway, not with the amount I’ve walked, trained, and fought for the past five years. I was still small and skinny, though. Gendry and Lommy had reminded me of it daily. Still I felt my strength grow everyday, even if it didn’t show, even if some of my clothes started to fit looser.

I see him before I hear his sleepy breath. I stretch my arms over my head as I watch him. Gendry was on the bed beside me the entire time. I wonder how long he’s been sleeping there. I feel myself blush at the thought of it. He lays there with his mouth slightly open. His hard jaw looks softer, his jet black hair is a shaggy uncombed mess. He’s wearing dark jeans, a black t-shirt that is snug around his broad shoulders, and heavy military boots. When he sleeps he looks _sort of_ nice, _peaceful_, like a gentle giant. But Gendry was anything but that. It didn’t help that he was immensely tall and strong. He could intimidate _ anyone_. 

I move to the side of the room where an old-looking wooden table is standing, as Nymeria follows closely, her gray fur tickling my bare legs. I grab the dark jeans from the stand while I look over to Gendry, still sleeping, his pale complexion making his dark hair and bushy dark eyebrows stand out. 

The bastard was supposed to be on-watch. It wasn’t like him to be so reckless, perhaps his paranoia was decreasing. We had been in the house for at least two weeks now, and _ still _ I felt uneasy. I pull on my pants quickly one leg after the other and then I make my way back to Gendry while buttoning my pants. The hardwood floors creak modestly. I plop back on the bed, facing him. I plant my hands on the soft mattress while I extend my feet towards his chest. I kick into him, and with one hard shove, he goes falling backwards, off the bed, and onto the floor. I hear a hard _ thump _ as he falls.

I stand, walking to the other side of the bed where he lays on the floor with his hands over his face. I approach him and stand over him, Nymeria and me casting a shadow over him. He groans in annoyance as he rubs his face and Nymeria carefully strides towards him to sniff him and lick his hands and face. He pushes her away and then proceeds to cover his face with his arms. 

“You were supposed to be on look-out.” I press. He sighs deeply and attempts to sit up as Nymeria continues to try to lick and sniff his face. He sits up, his eyes still half-closed with exhaustion. The wolfdog persists with her advances as Gendry continues to push her away in a sluggish unbothered manner. 

“I got tired. Besides, Lommy and Hot Pie were up early. They could work a gun well enough,” Gendry insists. 

“Hot Pie is complete rubbish with a gun.” 

“Well, he can scream. _ Really _ loud. If there was any trouble I’m sure we would know of it.” Gendry finally stands, clearly annoyed by Nymeria’s hyper nature. He towers over me as he stretches his arms out and yawns obnoxiously. His muscled stomach peaks through while he stretches, and I find myself looking away quickly. I’ve seen Gendry fully naked numerous times, but something felt _ different_.

It started feeling _ different _ the past year. It didn’t help that when I was bathing in the cold pond with Weasel, the morning when we found the house, I caught him staring at me. His eyes seemed focused and intense, the way they’d look when he was crafting bombs or setting traps. He had looked away the second our eyes met, _flushed_. I blush at the memory. 

He slept in my bed again, and every so often I’d find him staring at me deeply with those blue icicles he called eyes. I wonder if any of it meant anything at all. 

“If you’re really worried about us not being found out then perhaps you should train your bitch better.” Gendry says rudely. He moves me aside as he walks to the other side of the room where the door is completely ajar. The room is simple and spacious, with just a queen-size bed, a table, and an empty wardrobe. 

“She howls and whines, constantly. Anyone in a five-mile radius could surely be able to hear it. ” I feel my face becoming hot with anger. 

“Oh, shut up, _ idiot _. There are wolves in the forests, y’know! It’s good that she howls. No one would follow the sounds of a wolf, not unless they were completely mad.” I inch closer to him, my eyes piercing his. I could hear Lommy and Hot Pie talking loudly from downstairs. 

“Don’t be dim, Arya. You know _ they _ all know of us, _ they _ know of you, and your wolfdog. It’s best if you just keep the bitch quiet. Would that be so bloody fucking hard?” Gendry cuts his eyes at me and turns to leave. I feel the blood inside me boil. He had a special talent of firing me up, of making me angry. It was so easy to be so judgmental of Nymeria when she was a little on-edge, but when she was saving our lives, and guarding us, Gendry never seemed to have anything ill to say. 

I watch him grab the shotgun that was leaning on the gray wall by the door. He slings it over his back, and I watch him look over his shoulder to me. 

“Don’t sleep in my bed again,” I say aggressively. It’s the only thing I could think to say to him. 

“Well then don’t claim the most comfortable bed in the house.” I roll my eyes and scoff. The truth of it was that I hadn’t even picked the bed, nor the room. In fact, it was the last bed available. 

Nymeria licks my hand again. As Gendry walks off, I kneel beside Nymeria. I wrap my arms around her and feel her gray fur tickle my face and arms. She smells of Earth and Autumn. I hear the voices of the pack become louder downstairs, I even hear Weasel’s gentle squeaking. “Don’t listen to that bull-headed arse.” I whisper into her fur. “You’re a good girl. A _ very _ good girl.” Nymeria’s tail begins to wag intensely, and she whines happily. She attacks me with kisses and I let her. I lose my balance and fall on my arse while Nymeria bombards me with affection, and the room fills with my giggles. 

… 

I lay on the worn-out gray couch downstairs. The night is pitch-black. I could hardly see a thing. The only light source is coming from the oil lantern that sits on the coffee table to my right. Nymeria lays on the couch by my feet in a tight large ball, her eyes slowly closing with sleepiness. The rustling of the leaves, and the howling of the winds sound almost eerie coming from outside. _ I’m not afraid_, I remind myself. _ Why should I be? _I could hear Hot Pie’s and Lommy’s loud snoring coming from upstairs. Everyone is asleep. I especially hate night-watches, they tended to be so grim, so dark, and lonely. 

There wasn’t much to do the last couple of weeks. I can’t recall the last time we’ve gone this long without seeing a single _ chompie_. Mostly, we just played cards and explored every inch of the mysterious house. There wasn’t any more of the house to explore after a while. We’d found tiny bottles of cheap soap, hundreds of gallons of water, and about a year’s supply of canned foods in the dusty basement — soups, beans, fruit cocktails and stews. The discovery filled me with pure excitement, I wouldn’t have to hunt squirrels or deer, not if I didn’t want to. Not to mention the taste of bland meat wasn’t too good. But at the rate Hot Pie was putting food away, I figured we’d be hunting again sooner rather than later. Gendry had whacked Hot Pie every time he caught him eating outside of mealtimes, Gendry even started hiding all the can-openers, knives, and daggers, _still_ it seemed like Hot Pie always found a way to the food anyway. 

“I’m a survivor!” Hot Pie roared. “When we have to endure another famine it’ll be me who lives, and Arya and Weasel’s scrawny arses who drop dead!” Hot Pie got an especially hard whack from Gendry for that one, in his face that time rather than the back of his head. Hot Pie grabbed his red round face, his large brown eyes welling with tears as Lommy tried to hide a smirk. Hot Pie’s misery almost always got a chuckle out of the blonde lanky young man. 

“If I find you eating outside of mealtimes again, I’ll make sure it’s _you_ who drops dead.” Gendry spat. Hot Pie looked at Gendry defeated, he never talked back to Gendry, Lommy had at times but always ended up regretting it. Gendry wasn’t only the tallest and strongest by a long shot, but he was also the oldest. He was pushing twenty-two while Hot Pie and Lommy were barely nineteen. Gendry might’ve been five years my senior, but I didn’t let him boss me around like the boys had. 

With Weasel it was different. She was so well-behaved Gendry wouldn’t dare speak ill to her, not while I was around. She had once overheard him calling her and Hot Pie _ burdens_, and acted like she didn’t hear a thing. Though, I know she heard because after that, she refused to eat a morsel more of food than she was offered. She was quiet, shy, and kept to herself. She even knew her way around a gun, even if she wasn’t gifted with weapons in any way. 

Suddenly, the sound of creaking floorboards sing, and I bolt up from the couch in a slight panic. It takes me a second to relax as I quickly identify the sounds of the steps. _ Weasel_. I sit up and turn to face her. The little girl tippy-toes down the creaky steps, a flashlight in her hand. Her long brown hair is loose, and she’s in an oversized t-shirt and comfy oversized sweatpants. “_Arya_? Did I scare you?”

“No,” I lie. Nymeria scoots over closer to me on the couch, laying her head on my lap. I watch the small girl as she shyly makes her way towards me, a large mahogany box in one hand, and a flashlight in the other. 

She sits down next to Nymeria and puts the box down on the old nearly-rotted wooden table. She looks at me and smiles, her beautiful amber eyes shining in the dim lighting. “Your hair’s growing so fast.” She says with excitement. I look down at my hair, it’s up to my waist now. It’s a _ lusterless brown_, slightly wavy, and always messy. If it wasn’t for Weasel’s fascination with hair, I would’ve cut it again long ago, it certainly would’ve made things a little easier. 

“Thanks to you always brushing it,” I say smiling. 

“Well, what can I say?” She says haughtily, proceeding to giggle right after. 

I follow her giggle, and she smiles brightly at me, all crooked-teeth and freckles. My eyes move towards the fancy mahogany box she brought down with her. “What’s that?” I ask curiously. 

She looks down and then back at me. “I couldn’t sleep. I found it in the attic.”

“There’s an attic?” 

She nods. “Yeah. There was a string in the ceiling. You pull it, and stairs pop out.” Her eyes become wide as she speaks. “Couldn’t you hear?”

“I suppose not.” I say. “What did you find up there? Is there any more food? Or weapons? Clothes?” 

She shakes her head. “_No_. But there are blankets! And there’s an old mattress. And _ this_,” she points at the wooden box. “There are … _ pictures _ inside.” 

“Pictures? Pictures of what?” I ask as my fingers stroke Nymeria’s fur. 

“_A family_.” I tense up at the word as my thoughts go racing back to the family I once had. Back to my dad, and my mum, back to Robb, Sansa, Bran, and Rickon. Back to … _ Jon _. I bite my lip. I stare at the small girl as she goes rummaging towards the mahogany box. “Yes! There’s a little girl, and her brother, I think. He looks older. And there’s a mum and a dad!” She goes to open the box, her eager fingers shaking slightly. She pulls out a necklace from the box and sets it aside as she goes to pull out a bundle of photographs. 

At once I see it again, the infiltration and sacking of the Capital, of my former home. They came, _ the men in camouflage_. They came with biters on leeches, machine guns, and bombs. They kept asking for answers, for equality, for _ the truth_. I didn’t know what any of it meant, I was twelve. I only knew that these men, who came by the thousands in masks and army-green camouflage, wanted to hurt _ us_, wanted to hurt my family. They had already infiltrated The Northern province, my _ real _ home — where I once thought Bran, Rickon, Robb, and my mother were undoubtedly safe. _ But I was wrong_. 

I watched my father die. They came into our building, and made us watch while they blew off his head. Blood and guts spattering on my clothes, the sounds of Sansa’s screams and screeches rang in my ears. She was on her knees, her face caked with blood. They grabbed her while my father’s guard Rory grabbed me. He managed to get me out while I screamed and battled. More men came rushing in in masks, and vests, and assault rifles. The last thing I remember from that night is the sound of machine guns firing, my sister’s cry, and Lady’s high-pitched wolf yelp.

Weasel shoves the photograph in my face and I snap back into the present. “See? Aren’t they lovely? A handsome family.” She says much too loudly, as I feel myself inch away from the photograph. I push the picture away from my face, gently. I feel sadness consume me all at once, but I try not to let it show. I smile at Weasel, while she puts down the photograph, looking defeated. I put a strand of her hair behind her ear when I see her eyes well up slightly with tears. I sigh and smile again, as warmly as I can muster.

“Could you … brush my hair?” I ask with no interest in seeing the family photos from the mahogany box. A sickness enters my stomach as I watch the little girl’s face darken and frown. I see she understands, I see how awful she feels about something she shouldn’t feel awful about. Weasel nods as she quickly returns the bundle to the box, placing the necklace on top of the bundle and closing the box gently. 

“I’ll go get my brush,” she says, her voice cracking. 

I have a quick cry as the girl leaves the room with her flashlight. Nymeria licks the tears off my face. When Weasel returns with her large brown brush, there’s not one tear in sight. I push Nymeria aside as Weasel sits next to me, and I turn so that my back is to her. She brushes out the knots in silence, the brush making crunching noises from the tangles. It doesn’t take her long to brush out the knots. When my hair becomes soft, and smooth, she begins to hum a song. The bristles of the brush caress my head and hair soothingly. I feel my eyes close as her little song rings in my ears. My muscles relax ever so slightly, and for a while I feel peace. 

Jon 

It’s only a matter of time before the girl would begin to thrash in the operating table. The veins in her forehead jutt out fiercely in greens and blues. Her mouth is open and her breathing is heavy and short. Drool and blood spill out of her mouth and fall to the table. Her limbs are strapped tightly with medical restraints.

The girl had come to us looking like a completely different person. She was black-haired, willowy, and animated. Just a couple of days prior, she had looked pretty and full-of-life. The girl I met days before, the one who begged for access to the Black Union Establishment, the one that insisted she was immune, the one named _ Bella_, was no longer there. This thing on the table wasn’t human any longer. It was sad, yes, but I had done all I could to preserve her human, but alas I’m no scientist, no doctor, no _ God_. 

“Is there anything else we could do?” I ask Sam. He’s in his black scrubs, his surgical mask pulled back under his chin. He stares at the infected girl with his eyes wide. He doesn’t say anything, only shakes his head. He tears off his mask with his gloved hand. “Are you sure?” 

“I’m sure,” Sam responds, his voice shaking.

“Why did she take so long to turn?” I ask. 

“I don’t know. Perhaps she had _ some _ mutation. But she wasn’t immune, that much is clear already. She’s as much use to us now as any other infected out there. _ She’s gone_.” 

I place my hand on Sam’s shoulder comfortingly as his lip trembles. No matter how many people he saw turning and dying, it seemed like Samwell could never get accustomed to it. He was incapable of numbing himself. He felt everything so deeply. Living in a world like ours must of been hell for him, at least more hellish than it was for the rest of us. 

I pull out my pistol from my holster as the infected girl begins to make gurgling sounds. I make my way towards her, my heavy boots hitting the tile. The machines she’s hooked up on begin to beep more intensely. I point the gun to her head, turn off the safety with my thumb, and shoot. The sharp sound of the bullet rings harshly in my ears. She makes a noise, and then she’s _ really _ gone. 

I turn and look over to Sam. His eyes face the floor, his fat child-like face filled with sadness. I put the pistol back inside it’s holster and proceed to pat Sam on the shoulder once more. 

“Have _ someone _clean up and dispose of the body. Go have your supper.” 

Sam nods at the suggestion. “Yes.” He says but fails to move a muscle. “I just need a minute.”

“_Of course_.” 

...

I walk out of the cramped hospital room as the bright white lights of the operating unit’s hall assault my vision momentarily. The halls of the unit buzz with the sounds of machines, and distant conversations. Several Men and women in black scrubs pace around the floor, some sit behind counters and read, while others have their suppers in the seating area’s worn-out chairs. As I walk the halls towards the stairs, my heavy boots hit the polished tile sluggishly. I don’t remember the last time I slept properly. Every person I pass looks my way as I walk past them. They mostly smile, almost sadly, and greet me with “_Commander_,” following that with single nods. 

Although it had been years, the place still feels foreign to me. I have friends here, good people, people I can trust. I have Samwell, Edd, Pypp, Grenn and Ghost. And I have Val. _ Val_. When I was voted Commander by the leading men of The Black Union, the first thing I thought to do was make Val my first lieutenant. She was a skilled marksman, the best I’d ever seen. She wasn’t bad with knives either. Above all, she was smart, fierce, and well-respected. It didn’t particularly hurt to have someone like her on your side. 

As I make it to the staircase, I peak outside the wide open glass of the building. From the twelfth floor, I could see the evening take over the gray sky, the barbed-wire garden in the west wing, and the housing building in the east wing. Beyond that, I see the forest. The tall trees are mostly dressed in leaves of scarlet and gold. I find myself staring outside, out of focus. For a second I can’t hear anything except the sounds of nature outside, the winds, and the sound of shovels hitting dirt while soldiers harvest crops. 

Then suddenly, I see a team of soldiers emerging from the forests, all in black. They wear bulletproof vests under their heavy jackets, tough black jeans, and heavy black boots. Half of them have helmets over their heads, and in all of their hands are assault rifles, _ AKMs_, _ Scars_, and _ M4s_. They’re a party of about thirty. I watch them approach the establishment as they seemingly talk to one another casually, none looking ahead or looking remotely accomplished. I don’t see anyone out-of-place walking amongst them. And just by their demeanors, I know that they did not find what they were looking for, or rather what _ I _ was looking for. I find myself sigh as I tear away from the window and make myself walk towards the door leading to the staircase. I stomp down the stairs to meet them, preparing myself for disappointed once more. 

The staircase is gray and smells of mold, and the paint from the railings is peeling. I step down sheepishly. The past month Black Union was in great spirits. For a while, my brothers and sisters thought their prayers were being answered, that the sun would shine upon us once more, that the Gods had sent _ Bella _ to restore us, _ all of us, _back to health and prosperity. But _ Bella_, who most of us were sure was the key to a _ vaccine_, just ended up becoming sick like the rest of them, suffering her last moments in pain. And now, I was about to approach my search party, just so they can tell me, like they have for the past four years, that they hadn’t found _ anything _ or _ anyone._

As I reach the end of the stairs to the ground floor, I hear Ghost whining from behind the door. As soon as I open the heavy steel door the white red-eyed wolfdog begins to leap on me excitedly, his tongue finding my face as he stands on his hind legs to kiss my face. The beast is a couple inches taller than me this way. I squint as his tongue moistens my face, his front paws digging into my shoulders. I hear people scattering around the halls, probably getting ready for supper. 

“_Ghost. __Down_.” I say and the beast obeys at once. I wipe the moistness from my face with my sleeve as my people approach me once more and begin to greet me with, “_commander_.” A bunch of wandering kids stare at Ghost with fear in their eyes, it seems like no one ever got used to Ghost. I make my way towards the armory, the dark gray halls all around me, as soldiers and residents move past me to get to the staircase where their suppers wait for them on the second floor. Ghost walks quietly beside me, my fingers brushing against his fur while we walk with a dark cloud hanging above us. 

…

The armory is large and spacious, easily the biggest room in the entire establishment. Guns and ammunition hang all around the walls, all weapons in their designated areas, numbered individually and labeled with the letters, _ B.U.E. _ There are also axes, bows and arrows, crossbows, maces, grenades, combat knives etc. There are all kinds of weapons, and there are _ thousands._ Firearms were mostly prioritized but _ all _ arms were accepted and appreciated. The ceilings are high in the armory and the walls are a light gray instead of a dark. The room is filled with small lockers that the soldiers regularly filled with their gear, or any other personal items they might’ve possessed. 

I walk towards the ends of the room where abnormally long benches lie in between stands of _ M16s. _I sit myself down while Ghost sits down on the tiled floor beside me. I wait patiently for the search party to make their way into the room while my fingers run through Ghost’s thick white fur. My spirits are down and I find myself staring out into space, it’s been happening more often now, I noticed. I hear the steel door open at once. _ That was fast_, I think. But the rearing sound of two footsteps rather than sixty informs me that it’s not the search party just yet. Ghost sits up, his ears up and alert. The footsteps are familiar. 

A pretty young woman in a long blonde braid, tight black leather jacket, boots, and jeans, approaches me confidently. There’s a slight frown on her face. _ Val_. I feel a touch of comfort by her presence. Her gloved hand grips lightly on the holster over her shoulder. She leans her head on the wall, looking at me deeply with her gray-blue eyes. 

“You were right. _ Again. _Bella wasn’t an immune.” I say before she has the chance of saying _ I-told-you-so_.

“I’m just glad she didn’t infect anyone,” she says. She makes her way towards the bench and sits facing me with the bench in between her legs. I study her pale nearly-perfect face, her long eyelashes, and her full pink lips. There was once a time when she could make my heart beat out of my chest.

“_How_ could she? She was in a secluded hospital room tied with restraints the entire time.” I say getting more animated than I’d like. 

“_I_ _know_, Jon.” She says patiently as she gently places her hand over mine. “It’s just … I wish you would stop letting _ anyone _ in. Remember what happened at Order Starfall? _That’s_ what happens when you trust too deeply. I know you mean well, I know you want to help, but we have to be smarter if we want to survive, if we want _ this place _ to survive.” 

I look down. “I agree, I should be more selective of who I let in. But how will we ever be able to produce a vaccine without an immune. There must be one out there. Sam and Aemon-” 

“-you don’t think they really exist, do you? And even if they did, what are the chances they’d make their way to Black Union? Most people who get bitten or infected blow their heads off before they even turn anyway. Survival’s first, _always_.” 

Val pulls in towards me and lays a sweet kiss on my cheek. Ghost nudges his head on her thigh while she grabs my face once more to plant another kiss, this time on my lips. I close my eyes as I feel her plump lips over mine. I open my eyes slowly while she pulls us apart. She runs her thumb over my bottom lip and smiles. I smile back at her, the muscles in my face feeling strangely as I do. I can’t recall the last time I smiled. 

“I love you, you know.” _ I know. _For a while I thought I loved her too, but perhaps my heart was too damaged to really feel love wholeheartedly. Of course, that was no fault of Val’s. She was wonderful, caring, strong, and lovely. But, she’d never be _ mine_, and I’d never be hers. Not in the way she wanted. 

I nod, unable to say a word and she smiles sadly. _ She understands_. 

I hear the steel door opening once more. Val looks over to me, her mouth turning. I hear the mess of footsteps come entering through the door. That’s followed by the sounds of dull chatter. The sounds of the footsteps become louder as the soldiers get closer. They go to hang their firearms back in their assigned places. “I’m sorry, Jon, I _ know _ they’re trying.” Val whispers to me. I stand from the bench while the soldiers reach the part of the armory where I am. 

“_Commander_,” they all say unevenly, while they walk towards their guns’ designated areas. They all look exhausted, their cheeks flushed, and their steps slow and lazy. It’s obvious that they want to get their dinners in, and head to bed as soon as possible. 

Edd approaches me, pushing aside the heavily geared men in his way. They all watch him while he approaches me, all stopping what they’re doing for just a second. Edd removes his black helmet, his gray-hair, dark eyes, and long face in full view. 

I step in closer as I observe the man’s face closely. He looks like he has something to say, I feel my heart begin to thump faster with anticipation. 

“What is it, Edd?” I ask. 

“We couldn’t find her.” He says. “We tried but we couldn’t.” 

I look around, my eyes temporarily locking the eyes of the soldiers. They look at me concentrated. One of the soldiers, Donnel, removes his helmet and looks over at Edd, before looking over at me. 

“What?” I ask impatiently.

“There was word of the _ wolf-girl _ and _ the bull _ near the Northern border. She was traveling through the mainlands in a worn-down truck with the rest of her litter, and her massive beast. We scouted the area, thoroughly, and found nothing, commander.” Donnel says unenthusiastically, his fat red lips pouting stupidly. 

“Well, nothing _ but _ the truck,” Edd corrects and I find myself stare at him in deep concentration. “It seems they abandoned it, and headed off elsewhere. _ On foot. _They did a nice job of covering their tracks. They’re not your ordinary lot, I’ll give you that...”

I feel sick in the pit of my stomach as I think of her, _ my little sister. _I feel immense guilt for ever leaving her for _ Order Starfall. _For telling her I’d be south, and ending up north. _ Did she have any idea where I was now? Was she looking for me? _ I wonder what she must’ve looked like now. She would’ve been seventeen now, _almost_ eighteen. I remembered the last time I saw her. She was twelve, small, skinny, wild, loud-mouthed, and playful. Even at such a young age, she seemed to be the only person capable of reading me, of understanding me, and comforting me. I never felt alone with her, with my messy-haired, brash and brave little sister. 

I armed her before I left her, with a long heavy-duty dagger and sheath. On the handle was an engraved wolf. With proper care, the dagger could have outlived her and her children. I had also provided her with a standard pistol. “_ Biters in the head. People in the heart_.” I told her and she nodded in understanding. “Though, the head is _ always _ good.” She smiled sadly, jumped on me, held me, and rained kisses all over my face. The memory filled me with a sweet warmness, and suddenly I felt like I was seventeen again. _What are you doing, Arya? Putting yourself in constant danger like this? Was it truly you that they all spoke about? A small lethal girl with a large gray wolfdog … who else could it be? Truly? _

I stand still in thought and nod. The men and women around me stand still, waiting for me to say something, _ anything._

“Alright. Go on, have your meals, and rest. We’ll send a new search party _ tomorrow._” 

I hear a couple of disappointed sighs erupt from the group. They all look around at each other annoyed, before resuming what they were doing. They part from one another and scatter, their boots squeaking against the tile floor as they go return their guns to their rightful slots. I look down at Val, her face serious and unyielding. I rub my fingers through Ghost’s fur seeking his comfort, he licks my hand is response. He can probably feel the anxiety through my fingers. 

I stand rigidly in the armory as I watch all the soldiers make their way out. They pat me on the shoulder as they retire. As they leave, some of the soldiers say, “_have_ _a_ _good_ _evening_, _Commander_,” but most simply just say “_commander_,” followed by their exhausted nods. Edd is the last to leave. He squeezes my shoulder and smiles sadly. “We really did try to look everywhere. _ But the infected _ … _ and the clansmen _ … it’s more dangerous than ever out there. _ Especially, _in the mainlands. But, I hope we find her, Jon. _ Really,_ I do.” Edd squeezes my shoulder once more and heads out. I follow the sounds of his footsteps as they rear away. 

When the steel door shuts with a light clash, and the armory is completely silent, I turn to her once more. She stands abruptly from the bench, and faces me, intimidatingly. We’re nearly the same height, though I’m still taller. I look into her dangerous eyes, she has two fingers on her temple, looking completely tense.

“_Jon_. Your cousin will show if she’s meant to show.” She says, almost angrily. _ Sister, _I correct bitterly in my head, even though I know it not to be so. 

“What if she’s in trouble? She’s so close now, the closest she’s ever been. I can’t just pretend she’s alright. I can’t just do nothing.” I say. 

“Your soldiers grow tired of your persistence. Some have even _ died _ on these search parties. It’s been three years of this already, Jon. Enough is enough. It’s dangerous out there, and _ugly_. Your men are dying for a girl you don’t even know for sure is your cousin. A girl who’s a known wildcard. A girl who kills like … _ it’s nothing_.” 

I feel myself become bothered. Is that what the soldiers thought of Arya? What _Val_ thought of her? They didn’t even know her, they didn’t know what they were talking about, they didn’t know who Arya Stark was or is. “_We’re all killers_,” I say as I beckon Ghost and turn to leave. “Have you forgotten?” 

I look at her immaculate pale face. It looks sad, but also stern. _ She really is beautiful. _It's a shame we started growing apart, stopped meeting eye-to-eye. Still there were times when we’d search for one another in the night, our loneliness so alarming, and so evident. I think about her naked skin against mine, her flushed cheeks, her womanly chest, the way she would trace over my lips with her thumb. My physical body still seemed to love her, even if my heart couldn’t. 

“_Jon_. You’re a leader, you must make the hard choices. You can’t put yours or your soldier’s lives at risk for one little girl. A girl you wouldn't even recognize anymore.”

I shake my head. “I’m sorry, lieutenant. I’m _ grateful _ for your counsel. I _ respect _ your counsel, but when it comes to _ this, _I’m afraid you have no idea what you’re talking about.” I turn away from her and stride off. 

“Jon.” I hear her voice cry out from behind me as I continue off, Ghost pacing beside me. “_Please, just leave it, already_.” 

_ I can’t_, I think. I can’t abandon her again. As much as I want to be reasonable, to be fair to my soldiers, to be a good leader, something always stops me: my wretched rotting heart. I can’t just leave her out there. 

_ I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. _

Gendry 

I lay down on Arya’s bed and stare at the cracked ceiling. I don’t know how long I’ve been staring at nothing. I never could sleep well when Arya was on-watch. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust her, or that I was worried that she couldn’t handle herself, I just didn’t trust anyone’s eyes and ears like I trusted my own. And there was no way I’d ever leave Lommy or Hot Pie on look-out for more than a couple of hours. The last time I did, they had fallen asleep on the floor, with cards and puzzle pieces scattered all around the floor. 

I hear Lommy’s and Hot Pie’s light snoring from the room next door. I hear the brisk Autumn air howling and the crunchy leaves outside rustling in the wind. I sit up on the bed, deciding that trying to sleep now would be pointless. I see the dawn make its way through. It gives the sky a dark-blue glow. Still, the house remains completely dark, the oil-lantern on the table to my left, the only source of light. 

I stretch briefly, not stretching nearly as long or as thoroughly as I know I should. I turn around, to the wall behind the bed. From under the stained old pillow I retrieve a dull combat knife. I carve one small line on the wall next to many other lines. With the back of my knife, I count all the lines in my head. The lines lie in a straight line, one after the other. _ Seventeen, _ I count. We’ve been in the house for seventeen days, with no signs of biters, or the _ others_, the _ others _ who come just as hungry as the infected, except angrier, and ready not only to destroy, but to take. 

I stand from the bed and hear the floors creak as I stand. I sling the hunting rifle leaning on the bed over my shoulder, and place my knife under my belt. I tip-toe out of the room. I pass the boys’ room. They sleep on two separate full-size mattresses on the floor. They’re both covered in thin plaid blankets of yellow and black. I then pass Weasel’s closet-room. A space so narrow, all that fits is a lamp and a twin-size mattress. I quickly realize her tiny body is absent from the bed and quickly come to realize that she’s with Arya again, _ as usual_. The little girl always seemed to cling towards Arya, following her around like a lost puppy. 

As I descend the steps I see the back of Arya’s and Weasel’s heads. Arya turns her head with that paranoid jerk of hers at the sound of my footsteps. “_Boo_!” I shout in a loud whisper, as she rolls her eyes at me and turns her head away. I approach her feeling _ oddly _ on-edge. I tense my hands as I make it to the worn-out sofa, feeling a touch of anxiety in the pit of my stomach. I don’t know what that’s about, but I ignore it anyway.

I look down at the girls half-laying half-sitting on the sofa. Weasel leans on Arya, her head on her shoulder. Weasel’s mouth is open. She breathes lightly in her slumber. Her skinny arms are wrapped around Arya’s right arm. Arya looks up at me with her tired large gray eyes. Her left-hand over the pistol on her lap. 

“I couldn’t sleep.” I whisper. 

“This entire time?” She asks. 

I nod. I feel my fingers fidget at my sides. “I’ll take over.” I suggest as I look from Weasel back to Arya. “Get some rest before breakfast. I’ll make sure to wake you.” Arya looks at me deeply and shakes her head. 

“_No_. I’m not tired, either.” 

“The bags under your eyes say otherwise.” 

Arya shoots me a look. And then tenses up. She stretches her neck and looks over to Weasel. She puts a strand of hair behind the little sleeping girl’s ear. “Could you take her upstairs?” She asks. “I don’t want to wake her.” I find myself staring at Arya as she stares at the little girl. Her hair is down and combed. Her brown hair falls over her breasts. She’s in jeans and a tight black cami. Her chest moves in and out with light breaths, and her protruding collarbones are especially notable in her current attire. An old ripped blanket covers her arms and most of the small girl’s body. 

“Gendry?” 

“What?” I ask.

“...Could you take her? Upstairs?” 

“What? _Why_? She has feet.” I pat Weasel on the shoulder feeling Arya’s eyes burn on my skin. From my peripheral I see her mouth slightly open. The little girl stirs at first. I pat her again. I hear Arya whisper my name, clearly annoyed at me, but I resume. “_Weasel_. _Weasel_.” When I pat her again she opens her eyes at once. She looks up at me drowsily. Her eyes go from tiredness, to sadness, to slightly afraid. Weasel stands up at once, letting go of Arya’s arm. Her eyes meet mine for a second, before she goes. She stumbles on Arya’s feet before she makes her way to her closet-room, not mustering a word. Nymeria watches as the little girl climbs the steps, clearly disoriented with sleep. 

Arya stares at me the entire time that it takes Weasel to get upstairs. I pretend I don’t know that she's watching me as I plop down beside her on the couch, dropping my rifle on the floor with a crash. When the sounds of the girl’s footsteps cease, Arya pinches me hard in the arm, her face scrunching up in anger. 

“Ouch!” I shout loudly. Nymeria sits up from the floor seemingly alarmed. 

“You can be such a bloody _ cunt, _sometimes.” She looks away from me and crosses her arms tightly. She pouts and shakes her head. “You’re horrible to her,” she mumbles to herself. 

“I’m not. I’m not _ horrible _ to her,” I say making it clear to her that I heard her. “You _ just _ baby her. We’ve been taking care of her since she was _ three_-”

“-_four_,” Arya corrects. 

“We’ve had so many close-calls because of her. _ She makes Hot Pie seem useful._” I say and I feel Arya’s hard stare. “She needs to toughen up, she can’t be babied all the time … _ not _ in a world like hers. You can’t keep doing things for her and making her believe you’ll always be there to protect her.” 

“She’s _ nine!” _Arya retorts. 

“That’s not your problem. You’re _ not _ her mother.”

Arya looks away, almost looking defeated. “_I never said I was_,” she mumbles again. She looks down at her lap where her pistol lies. She takes the gun and puts it down on the floor. She rearranges her sitting position. Nymeria lays down on the floor below her, not keeping her yellow eyes off of her human. Arya sits with her knees pulled into her chest, the blanket falling over her bare shoulders. 

I find myself thinking about my own mother. I hardly remember her face. I only remember she was blonde with dark eyes and that I didn’t look like her. Whoever my father was left me with all his genetic makeup. Arya used to joke about how I looked like the former supreme leader, he had been her father’s best friend. I didn’t see it, and I doubted my mother was even attractive enough to grab the attention of a supreme leader. She wasn’t physically ugly from what I remember, just abnormally weak, and cowardly.

I was seven when she was bitten, she had at least managed to take down the _ chompie _ that bit into her shoulder. She was crying and sobbing that she was sorry, that wished she was a better mother, and that she was sorry she couldn’t protect me. I didn’t cry. I couldn’t feel anything. She told me to kill her, so I did. I shot her in the head with a revolver, after she had showed me how. And that was the end of her.

The capital ended up taking me in after intensively examining me for any signs of sickness. I was a mere soldier for a great part of my life, a soldier with no voice, and no real say in anything. I put myself in danger when the capital needed me to, and was compensated with food, water, shelter and an uncomfortable cot to sleep in at night. And that was all, from seven to seventeen, that was all. 

“This house still scares me.” Arya says, the features on her face suddenly softening. 

“Me too.” I admit. “We’ve been here _ seventeen _ days.”

“Is it seventeen, already?” She asks. “I hope no one shows until after winter. It’d be nice to have all that food and a roof to sleep in when the snows start to fall.” 

“I hope no one shows _ ever.” _I say. I quite like the house. It’s warm enough, it smells of wood, there’s food, water, and the beds are comfortable. Arya was right, the house felt too good to be true, but alas, here we are, seventeen whole days later. 

“I don’t think the chompies much like the cold.”

“No,” I agree. “It was smart to come North,” I say. I look at Arya and find her smiling to herself. I wanted to go west to the _ islands, _but Arya wanted to go _ north_. Lommy, Hot Pie, and Weasel were indifferent at the time, their bellies empty and their feet sore. Arya and I flipped a coin, and the coin told us _ north._

“This is _ our _ house now,” I decide. “If any dickhead wants to take it, they can go ahead and try.” 

Arya looked over to me, her small smile still on her face. “What if _they’re_ dangerous.” 

“_We’re dangerous,_” I insist. “We have a reputation, don’t we? Maybe it’s _ us _ people should be afraid of, infected _and_ otherwise.” 

“Yeah,” Arya agrees with a nod, “_Our _ house …”

She hugs herself with the blanket and shivers. Her cheeks look flushed, and her small lips look glossy and bright pink. She looks down at Nymeria while Nymeria nudges her feet. Arya peaks her thin fingers through the blanket to pet her dog, the wolfdog whines and licks her fingers while she does. Arya smiles softly, the blanket falling over her shoulders again, and exposing her soft smooth skin. 

With the exposure of her skin, my mind goes back to that first day in the house. The day I _ saw _ her. She was wet from the bath she had had in the pond. She was fidgeting, and shivering, her exposed wet skin against the brisk fall air. She was looking for the blanket it seemed, while Weasel was squeaking about how cold she was. I was watching her from afar, as I sat outside keeping watch, Nymeria sat beside me watching Arya just the same. 

Her wet hair fell down to her waist. Her skin looked pale and unblemished except for the horrible scars on her belly, legs, and arms. Her stomach was flat and her ribs were slightly prominent, but still her curves were womanly and her hips were wider. I couldn’t stop looking at her. Her breasts were small but plump and round, her legs skinny but muscled. And her mound … She caught me looking at her, and held my glare while she quickly put the blanket she found over her body, quickly striding off to retrieve a freezing Weasel. 

“Gendry?” 

I shake my head and rub my eyes, suddenly a bit ashamed.

The living room area glows with the blue light of the dawn. I turn to the oil-lamp on the table in front of the sofa, and turn the wick down into the burner, watching the flame go out as I do. Beside the table, I see a brown brush, and a elegantly-crafted wooden box. I observe it, brushing my fingers over the polish, and then turning it over before finally opening it. 

“It’s just pictures and stuff. Weasel found it in the attic.” 

“There’s an attic?” I ask.

“Apparently so.” Arya responds. 

I hunch over the table and pull out the necklace and the bundle of pictures within the box. I pick up the necklace and feel it’s heaviness against my left palm. I run my thumb over the half-heart-shaped pendant. With my right-hand I pick up the first picture from the bundle. It’s an old photograph of a family of four. A feeble-looking stick of a man with red hair, a pretty brunette woman, and their two red-haired children. In the photograph they’re smiling widely behind what looks like a spring-time forest. I put the picture down, and return the bundle back to the box. I look to Arya before I close the box with a hard slam. 

“Lommy was right, _ those _ people are _ definitely _ dead.” 

Arya shakes her head, rolls her eyes, and scoffs. I find myself smiling darkly as I lean back on the sofa and properly observe the golden necklace. I weigh the necklace with my right palm this time, and stare at it closely. I don’t notice any discoloration anywhere on the necklace. I squeeze the jewelry against my fists.

“What are you doing?” Arya asks.

“Looking for discoloration.” I answer bluntly. When I open my palm, I notice the skin in my palm is the same color as it was. “_Huh_.”

“What?” 

“It’s gold. _ Real _ gold. _ I think_.” 

“_So?_” Arya snaps. “What use is _ real _ gold to us, anyway?” 

“It used to be worth a lot. _ Before _ the world went to shit.” 

Arya looks at me sadly. Her eyes go to the necklace curiously. I open my palm to allow her to see it better. She tilts her head in wonder. She bites her lip, and I find her eyes light up. “It’s pretty,” she says. 

“Why don’t you keep it?” I suggest. 

She looks at me and then shoots me a face. “_No_,” she says. “It’s not yours to give away.” 

“I thought this was _ our _ house,” I say. I catch Arya smile again and feel myself smile before I can think to stop it. 

“Here,” I say as I scoot closer to her on the sofa, suddenly feeling that sickness coming from the pit of my stomach again. She doesn’t pull back from me, she only watches me closely, and pulls her knees down from her chest, her large eyes focused on me. I unhook the necklace, leaning in towards her, her light breath hitting my face as I place the chain over her neck. My fingers brush over the skin behind her neck. I feel her shiver and close her eyes. I fumble with the hook, my big hands struggling with the tiny clasp. Our faces are inches apart when I finally manage to hook the necklace in place. The gold shines against her skin, and makes her look like she’s glowing. 

Arya opens her eyes, her gray eyes find my eyes, and then my lips. I stare at her as her blanket falls down from over her shoulders. Her fingers play with the half-heart pendant as her eyes remain on me, the light from the dawn making her look _ beautiful. _My hands go to her face impulsively. “_Gendry,” _she whispers, and that’s when I lean in. 

I feel her soft lips against mine. I kiss her lightly and she kisses me back even gentler. It only lasts two seconds and then she’s pulling away from my lips, her face scarlet red. Arya’s fingers go to her lips, and they shake slightly. _ Who would’ve thought one of the most lethal people in the new world would be so shy about a kiss? _

“I should go to bed.” She says as she detaches herself from me. She stands quickly, looks around, picks up her pistol, and looks over to me. “_ Goodnight_.” She says before striding off. Nymeria stands goofily on all-fours and follows Arya.

I suddenly begin to feel immense guilt for kissing her. I’ve never kissed her before, or even embraced her, a kiss might have been _ too much_. She was only seventeen, I don’t blame her for feeling uncomfortable. The first time I slept with a girl, I was fifteen, and even then, it had only happened because the girl was persistent. We were on assignment, moving infected away from the capital to make it safer, more livable, and clean. There weren’t many growling, drooling, heavy-veined _ chompies _ in the area. I don’t remember the girl’s name just that she was black-haired, pretty, and had blue eyes. She was tall and thin, and hyper. She made me fuck her behind an abandoned warehouse, the rest of the scouting party on the other side of the wall, just several feet away. 

Suddenly, I hear silence, failing to hear the creaking of the steps. I knew Arya to be light on her feet, but not _ that _ light. Then I hear her footsteps, and they sound like they’re coming towards me rather than away from me. I hear the sound of her pistol hitting the floor, and Nymeria’s paws scratching against the floors. She appears above me all of a sudden, looking radiant and confident. 

She kneels on the couch beside me. I watch her as she slowly inches closer to me on her knees. I feel my mouth open as I watch her, I’m nearly drooling. She grabs my face and kisses me again. I stand up on my knees at once, immediately towering over her. Hunching over, I press my lips against hers, feeling her moistness. Her mouth opens slightly and I find myself subconsciously stick my tongue inside her. I taste her taste for the first time. She moans lightly inside my mouth. At once, I feel the bulge inside my pants grow.

I become impatient as I kiss her, hunching over to get all of her mouth. My hands go to her arms, and then her waist, and then her hips, wanting to feel her everywhere. We kiss faster, our heads bobbing animatedly from side to side, our tongues dancing inside each others mouths. I hug her waist tightly, and press her against my body, leaving absolutely no space between us. I feel my heart beating out of my chest, the softness of her lips making me dizzy. I hold her by the waist with one arm, as my right-hand goes trailing down to the button of her jeans. I unbutton her pants with one hard jerk and that’s when she pulls us apart with a whimper.

Arya places her hands on my chest, lost in thought. She looks up at me almost sadly. She wraps her arms around my neck and hugs me, squeezing as hard as she could. I wrap my hands around her waist and hug her back. We stay like this for awhile, our breaths the only thing audible. I don’t understand what the gesture means, but when Lommy comes fumbling down the steps insisting he needs to _ take a piss_, Arya quickly pulls us apart once more, grabbing her gun and blanket, pretending like none of it actually happened. Lommy threw me a face as he watched Arya and Nymeria ascend the steps quickly, bumping against him in the process. His eyes went from me to Arya, and back to me. 

“What’s wrong with _ her_?” He asks as he descends the steps with that goofy lanky stride of his. His eyes widen all of a sudden. “Don’t tell me ... you two just _ fucked_?” 

“Shut your fucking hole, Lommy. Or I swear to the Gods, I’ll make you drink your own fucking piss.” 

“It was only a question!” Lommy answers frantically as he makes him way towards the back door. I hear him mumbling profanities under his breath as he walks to the other side of the first-floor. I don’t want to use the remaining of my energy on Lommy so I let him carry on saying whatever he wants to say. I lay on the couch on my back and find myself replaying my kiss with the wolf-girl again and again. I’d do anything to be upstairs with her, in her bed, smelling her smell and feeling her warmth. _ What was this feeling? _Whatever it was, it was something I was once so sure I’d never experience in my lifetime. 


	2. Kin

Arya 

I stare into the broken clock hanging on the cracked wall. Outside, the sun already begins to set. We try to take advantage of the daylight, try to be collectively up when it’s light and down when it’s dark. With winter just around the corner, the days are shorter, and the nights seemingly never ending. It didn’t help that we were a great deal more immobile, thanks to the discovery of the house, and often felt energetic at night. I found the lack of movement made it a great deal harder to sleep, giving me more time with my cruel thoughts. 

Nymeria paces around me as I sit on the floor and count what’s left of the ammunition. I lineup all the guns on the floor in front of me. If things remained as peaceful as they had been, at least until the spring, there would be _ nothing _ to worry about. I sit back with my legs folded, leaning on the sofa for support. The smell of fire fills my nostrils as I spot Lommy begin to light some candles, and the oil-lamps with his match. I hear Hot Pie and Weasel in the kitchen cooking up some fresh squirrel. Hot Pie had the idea of cooking the squirrel meat and adding it to the canned stew we’d found. He surely knew how to make meals more interesting. 

Gendry hunted the squirrel. We refused to use any of the guns as to not attract any attention towards the house. He used the longbow I had nicked from the _ Riverlands Gang _ two years prior. I wanted to know my way around a bow, I was best with knives, and decent enough with firearms, but stealth was my _ real _ weapon; a bow could only enhance that. It was a pity that the draw weight of the longbow was too heavy for me, only Gendry and Lommy could manage the bow, but their accuracies weren’t the best. Gendry _ really _ shined through his strength and his craftiness, Lommy through his immensely hardworking nature, even though he was _ alright _ with a gun too. Gendry always said Lommy was a slave in another life who knew nothing but “_work, work, work_.” 

I load all the guns starting with the shotgun, followed by the hunting rifle, then my pistol, Weasel’s pistol, and the sniper rifle we never used, _not once_. The longbow had about twelve arrows, Lommy always cleaned and sharpened them after every hunt or kill. Aside from _those_ weapons, Gendry had his hammer axe, Lommy his trench knife, Nymeria her teeth, and I had my parrying knife — a gift from my brother, Jon. _Jon_. _Was he out there somewhere? Could he have forgotten about me?_ _No_, I think quickly, perhaps Sansa or baby Rickon could have forgotten me, but _not_ Jon. And he wasn’t even my brother, but my cousin. _Cousin_. I despised calling him _cousin_, it felt _too_ impersonal somehow.

I think about the day he gave me my dagger. He was on his way to _ Order Starfall _ already. He was in dark clothes, his straight brown hair had been growing in, and was longer than it ever was. His gray eyes looked sad and melancholy, as they so often had. I felt my heart break when he walked out of my room, leaving the door wide open. Nymeria whined and cried as Ghost followed Jon out. I watched him go as I gripped the dagger tightly in my left-hand, my tears running down my cheeks. I remember that time as the last time I felt with my _ whole _ heart. I remember his words, _ “when you’re at the capital, and I’m at Starfall, we’ll both be south. We’ll be close to one another. I’ll be there, down the road. If you ever come looking for me, you’ll find me. I promise.” _ Well, he wasn’t _ there_, he was probably _ dead_, _ dead _ like the _ rest _ of them.

A while later, Weasel walks towards me in her two-braids, her cheeks red from cooking. She holds two ceramic bowls in her little hands. Nymeria sits beside me at once, and stares at the bowl in the girl’s hands. I quickly push away the guns and boxes of ammo to the side, as quickly as I can muster. 

“_Come and get it!_” Hot Pie bellows and Lommy looks sharply towards the kitchen. Lommy’s in a navy-blue tracksuit looking ganglier than ever. His long blonde locks falling prettily over his blue eyes. He puts down the dirty clothes he was fumbling about with, and walks towards the kitchen. 

“It’s hot,” Weasel says sweetly when she approaches me. She goes to sit beside me, on my left. As the small girl shifts next to me, I reach out and grab the bowl by the sides, carefully placing it on my lap. I recognize the sound of Gendry’s footsteps as he descends the steps. I hear him yawn obnoxiously, and I picture him stretching without even looking at him. I become flushed all of a sudden, and turn to Weasel. 

“_Erm_. Thank you, Weasel.” I say with a smile. She nods sweetly. She sits with her small legs spread out wide before her, and her own smoking bowl on the floor between her limbs. Nymeria wiggles excitedly beside us. Weasel holds up a flimsy plastic spoon up to me, and I grab it. Miraculously, I’m not hungry. I plop the spoon inside the meaty thick stew, and stir it around lazily. It smells good, smokey and tomato-y.

I hear the boys in the kitchen arguing about portion sizes. With Lommy insisting he needs more food because he’s _ skinnier_, Gendry because he’s _ bigger_, and Hot Pie because he’s _ hungrier_. Weasel blows into her spoon and takes one large spoonful in her mouth. She chews slowly, by the way she chews I could tell the stew is too hot, and the meat too chewy. She turns to me as she chews, her large eyes focused. 

“Are you _okay_?” She says after finally swallowing her first bite.

“Of course,” I say. “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“I don’t know.” She says. “You look a little … _ sad_.” 

“I’m _ not _ sad,” I retort, much more aggressively than I intend. She looks at me closely, I see her look down at her stew shyly as she goes for another bite, her eyes already becoming red and filling with tears. The girl was the most sensitive little thing I had ever met, she was different when she was younger, stubborn and more resilient. She used to shout when she was angry, and refuse to walk when she was tired, but now she was the opposite. She always made herself as small as possible, following all of our orders blindly, never overstepping, and crying whenever Gendry or I spoke to her too forcefully. Gendry was right, perhaps I was babying her. 

I finally take my first bite of the stew and it nearly burns my tongue. It’s a bit salty, and the squirrel meat is certainly tough, but despite that, it’s incredibly flavorful, for a second I forget I wasn’t hungry. “It’s good,” I tell Weasel, “you should take-over as cook.” I say as I try to chew through the meat. 

Weasel smiles shyly to herself as she chews. “Hot Pie wouldn’t like that,” she says, her voice shaking as she does.

Nymeria nudges me as I eat. She whines and pats my shoulder with her paw. I assume the boys have made peace with one another as they all come walking into the living room area with their designated bowls in their hands. They sit in front of Weasel and I. 

Hot Pie’s plump cheeks don’t look as plump as they once did. Though, they were almost always red and full of color. His white t-shirt is stained with stew as are his baggy burgundy sweatpants. He plops down on the floor, his stew slightly spilling over on him as he sits. “_Bugger_,” he mumbles before beginning to down his hot stew, no spoon required. 

Lommy and Gendry drop to the floor in unison. Lommy sits with his long legs folded. Gendry sits with his knees up, looking stiff and gruff, as usual. I find myself looking at him for much too long. His eyes look down at his stew boredly, still looking sleepy from his slumber, it was his turn to keep look-out today, so he slept the majority of the day for that reason. When his electric blue eyes dart up towards me, I quickly avert my attention back to my food, shoving spoonfuls in while Nymeria whines like a hopeless beggar. 

For a while, all that can be heard is the sound of chewing, mild slurping, and soft wolf cries. We eat together in silence, no one speaking a word, we simply soak one another’s solace. Outside, the leaves rustle in the night wind, and wolves howl in the distance. I find myself smile at the sound. Nymeria howls lowly to herself in response. _ We must be in the Wolfswood_. I was so close to my former home, I wonder what had become of it, surely it couldn’t have been _ completely _ destroyed, _ despite _ the rumors. 

My jaw starts to feel numb with the hard chewing. I look over to Nymeria, her sad golden eyes staring into me patiently. I smile at her as I spit my glob of chewed meat into my hand. I cup it towards her mouth and watch her eat it. She swallows it whole, barely chewing it. 

“_Gods_, do you _ have _ to do that?” Gendry asks, his face scrunching up with slight disgust, though he resumes on eating like nothing. Hot Pie and Lommy smile to themselves, keeping their eyes to their stews. I turn to Weasel and see her smile too. 

“_Oh_, shut up.” I say. “She’s hungry!” 

“I’m sure she can chew her own food.” Gendry spits. 

“I didn’t feed it to her from my own mouth. It’s _ not _ a big deal,” I retort.

“_Whatever_,” Gendry says ignoring me and returning to his food. Hot Pie and Lommy look at one other, mouth some words to each other, and then giggle. I roll my eyes and ignore them, they were always gossiping to each other like the _stupid_ little boys that they were. 

I pop my spoon into my mouth, and place my bowl on the floor for Nymeria to finish. I only manage to finish about half of my food, still a tad bit full from lunch. Nymeria quickly begins to devour the food savagely, the stew falling over the sides of the bowl. The sounds of her slurping and smacking fill the room. I pat her tummy as she eats. I feel Gendry’s judging eyes on me as I do. 

When Nymeria finishes, she huffs obnoxiously, turns and lays down beside me on the floor, her large head planted on my thighs. I sigh and drop my head to the sofa, as the _ after-dinner-drowsies_, a term Hot Pie had made up, begins to hit me. 

“It’s true what they say,” Gendry blurts out. 

““What?”” Lommy and Hot Pie ask at the same time. 

“Dogs _ always _resemble their humans.” Gendry says while he finishes the last of his food.

“I never heard no such thing,” Hot Pie blurts out. 

“_Of course you haven’t_,” Gendry mumbles under his breath in a condescending tone. I find myself staring at him once more, my head leaning over the couch observing him sideways. He wears his tough brown jacket over his black shirt, and jeans. His boots large, dirty and _ masculine_. His shaggy black hair is all over his face, and his pale face looks slightly colored. I find myself biting my lip as I recall our kiss from before. A second later, he looks over to me, suddenly looking deeply into my eyes searchingly. His expression is soft for once. He half-smiles at me, and I look away quickly, as I feel my chest flutter slightly. I go for the necklace around my neck, feeling the half-heart around the tips of my fingers. I almost forgot I had been wearing it all this time. 

…

My eyes open with a jerk suddenly. I lay on the bed and feel the sharp chill of the Northern, late-Autumn air. I wrap the thick blankets around myself tighter as I shiver. The temperature dropped an awful lot tonight. I was never someone who was sensitive to the cold, my blood always ran warm, and living in the Northern province had surely accustomed me to such conditions, though I never recalled it being _this_ cold. 

I propel up slightly from the bed to unbound my hair, feeling as my rubber band pulls on my strands painfully. Brown hair falls down my back. I feel my hair provide me a bit of warmth. I massage my scalp as I hear Lommy’s and Hot Pie’s light snores. I can’t hear Weasel’s, but that was normal, she never made a sound when she slept, she slept still, as still as a rock. 

The bed creaks loudly as I begin to shift again, this time sitting up all the way, my bare legs still under the blankets. Perhaps sleeping with my jeans could have helped me get warmer, but the discomfort of the rough material against my skin whilst I slept, wouldn't have made a little more warmth worth it. _ Besides_, Nymeria provided me enough heat when I needed it, but alas my bed is free of her. I hug my body as I observe the room. From the looks of the darkness, I guess it’s a little after midnight. 

The oil-lamp is still on on the wooden table on the far-left corner of the room. I can’t make out much in the room except the tall dark wardrobe in front of me, the eerie moonlight entering through the window, and the soft-light coming in through the half-opened door. I look around the room, extending my hands towards the floor. I grab at air where I expect to grab fur. I quickly jump up to my knees, examining the floor around the bed. The mattress creaks again as I move around, it creaks louder than before. I feel the chill pierce me as the blankets fall from my body completely. 

“_Nymeria_?” I say in a hush as I actively pursue her warm fur like some hungry wild animal hunting for her supper. “_Nymeria_?” I say louder this time. She doesn’t hear. Or maybe she’s actively ignoring me. I put my lips together and blow, trying not to whistle loud enough to wake anyone, but loud enough that the wolfdog could hear me from wherever she was hiding. Almost instantly, I hear the sounds of her claws against the wood floors. She comes bolting towards me hyperly as she barks lightly once. The sounds of the scratching floors get louder. I jump when she clumsily slams into the door, completely opening it. She slides into the room like the floor is made of ice. 

I gasp and then find myself bursting into a quiet giggle. Nymeria was always so hard to train. Harder than _Grey Wind_, _Ghost_, and _especially_ _Lady_. At least from what I saw. Sansa always used to say that the fault lied with _me_, that _I_ lacked constraint and discipline, and that _like me_, Nymeria was much too wild. But _at least_ Nymeria wasn’t _as_ wild and aggressive as Rickon’s wolfdog, _Shaggy_. 

I sit back as Nymeria hops onto the bed beside me. She smells me and then gives me one good lick before her giant furry body begins to circle the bed energetically feeling for the right spot. When she finds it, she lays down on her belly, her head on my thigh. She sighs and darts her golden eyes up towards me. I feel her heat straight away. “Don’t leave again,” I tell her and she whines in response. 

Before, I have the opportunity to lay back down on the bed, I hear footsteps advancing. Heavy footsteps, and an annoyed sigh coming from the hall to follow it. He pops his head inside my room. I could see the blue of his eyes even in the darkness. 

“Why do you insist on not wearing pants to bed? _ It’s freezing_.” 

I throw him a face, pulling the blankets over my thighs at once. Nymeria lifts her head while I pull up the blankets to cover my bare legs. She stands on the bed once more, her giant body moving around in circles, blocking Gendry from view. She sets herself on my right side, the side where I’d so often find Gendry lying on. Nymeria sighs heavily. I look over to Gendry and stick my tongue out at him. 

He rolls his eyes and enters the room without an invitation. I dig my fingers deep into Nymeria’s fur as I watch him walk inside the room. He hesitates for a moment, and then a second later, he closes the door behind him. I swallow hard. 

“What are you doing?” I ask at once.

“I don’t want to wake anyone.” 

“_What do you mean? _” I ask again, exasperation clear in my voice. 

“What is _ wrong _ with you?” He responds rudely. “_Calm down_.” 

I shift in the bed, my left-leg brushes against my right, and my own subconscious motion makes me shiver. Gendry grabs the strap over his shoulder and drops the hunting rifle on the floor by the door. He walks towards the bed, his eyes pointing towards the floor. He sits on the left-corner of the bed, as he rubs his eyes and runs his hands over his face harshly. 

“Tired?” I ask.

He nods and then yawns. “It’s _ almost _ morning anyway, _ so_.” 

I look outside the window, and see mostly darkness. The light from the dawn glowing in the sky in a dark purple. My guess regarding the time of the day was completely off. I didn’t feel like I was well-rested enough for it to _ almost _ be morning. I turn my head to see the tallies Gendry carved on the wall behind the bed. The paint on the wall was peeling above the bed frame. I brush my fingers over the cracked paint, as my fingers make their way up towards Gendry’s markings. I begin to count all of them in my head quickly. I hear the bed creak as I do, I feel Gendry inch his body closer to mine. _ I then quickly realize I have to recount. _

I turn to him, he now sits near the center of the bed, but still on the edge. My eyes meet his, I place my hands over my lap awkwardly, I feel my fingers tremble. Nymeria begins to whine to herself at once, shortly stopping after a moment. 

He side-eyes the wolf-dog. “I was teaching her a few new things, before you so kindly interrupted us.” 

“_Teaching _ her? _ Teaching her what? _ She’s already trained.” I press defensively. “And she doesn’t take orders from _ you_.” 

“If you say so.” He says, looking much too tired to argue. 

There’s a silence. He lays back on the bed horizontally, his big feet still completely planted on the floor. He rubs his eyes and sighs. His shirt rides up to his navel, I see his muscled sides and the trail of hair that goes from him belly-button down below his pants. I find myself averting my eyes from him. 

“How many days?” He asks. 

I’m confused for a second. “_Twenty-six_,” I say after a long pause.

“_Well_, twenty-seven, if we survive the next few hours,” he says dryly. His eyelids begin to look heavier as he blinks slowly. His choppy, shaggy black hair hugs his face nicely, and his black beard is growing in, he looks entirely like a man now. He turns his head to me, his sleepy blue eyes looking into me deeply. 

“There’s a bed in the attic, you know?” I spit rudely. 

He doesn’t say anything, only shrugs. He stares at me again, the way he did when he _ saw _ me, the way he did the day we kissed. I find myself biting my lip as I replay the moment again in my head, his large hands over my waist and hips. I shiver again as he looks away from me, his eyes closing with exhaustion. 

I find my thoughts go trailing back to that early morning, how he kissed me, and how I kissed him again, all on my own accord, no one or nothing _ making _ me. I felt powerful in a way. Killing _ could _ make me feel powerful, but the guilt that followed was always so wretched and cruel. I didn’t feel guilt after kissing Gendry. I felt _ good_. _ Before, during, and after_. 

I think about what would have happened after he unbuttoned my pants. Would he have pulled them off? Would he have _ touched _ me? For so long I never thought about _ that_, never thought about what women and men did beyond locking lips, and holding hands. Sansa used to endlessly speak about romance, about how her future partner would be strong, fair, and a well-respected warrior. He’d complete _ her_, and she’d complete _ him_. _ “He’d be the other half of my heart, and we’d make love endlessly in a world where the sun shined,” _ she said once.

_ Sansa_, I think. Had the _ men in camouflage _ truly killed her? _ No_. A woman as pretty as her would never have been killed just like that. Not with the shortage of women in the world. A girl like her, tall, pretty, with beautiful thick auburn hair, and deep blue eyes, surely wouldn’t have been _ wasted_. I clench my fists tightly. I’d rather she be dead than be suffering. Wherever she may be, I hope she’s alright, I hope she felt some sort of happiness despite her circumstances. I did not intend on suffering the same fate as my sister, the same _ lack of control_. 

“_Gendry_?” I say loudly. 

His eyes pop open at once, they dart around the room before they land on me again. “What?” He asks as he begins to sluggishly sit up on the bed. Nymeria sits up after him, she faces the window, and begins to whine as she had been before. I touch her fur to comfort her, surely the sound of my voice startled her. 

“Could I ... _ ask _ something of you?” 

He leans on his elbow, half-sitting, half-laying. He shakes his head, in slight confusion. “Get on with it then.” 

Nymeria whines again, this time louder. My eyes go to Nymeria, and then Gendry, and back to Nymeria. She hops off the bed at once, and sprints towards the window. Gendry and I look at each other, our eyes widening. Nymeria stands on her hind legs, pressing her paws on the glass window. She sniffs around the window, and then suddenly begins to bark and howl simultaneously. That’s when Gendry and I quickly stand from the bed, adrenaline rushing through my body as I do. We rush towards Nymeria, her loud barks ringing in my ear. Surely, Lommy, Hot Pie, and Weasel were up now. 

I quickly go to grab my pants from the table as Gendry tries to observe what’s lurking outside, he squints, looking around closely, trying to make anything out in the darkness. He tells Nymeria to shush and her barks immediately cease, and turn into low whines and cries. I’m taken aback by her obedience. Gendry looks back at me while I pull on my pants and smirks smugly. He turns his attention back to the window, Nymeria’s ears up and alert. 

“I see something,” he mumbles. He opens the window with one hard yank.

“_What are you doing_!?” 

“It’s a biter,” he says as he looks deeply into the darkness, “but it’s _ just _ one.” He pulls out the hammer axe from his belt as he observes the thing outside the window. “I’ll get it.” 

He turns to button his jacket, and then strides off quickly, his heavy boots stomping against the hardwood. He turns the doorknob and goes to leave. I stand by the window, my pants undone, with the night chill wholeheartedly entering the room and stinging my skin. I look outside, Nymeria standing beside me. Outside my door, I hear loud footsteps from the hall. I hear Lommy’s and Gendry’s voices. I look into the darkness and see it. A _ chompie_. I could tell right away she used to be a girl. She growls while she limps towards the house. She moves abnormally slow, in a ripped long-sleeve shirt, and jeans. 

Weasel runs into my room, fear clear in her face. Nymeria continues to cry softly. “_What is it_? _ Who’s there_?” She runs towards me, in her nighttime sweatpants, and her long hair loose. She grips onto my back, quickly peeking outside the window. I point at the biter. Weasel whimpers. “Is it just the one?” 

“Yes,” I reassure her. “It’s just the one.” 

We look out the window together, as her arms grip onto me tighter. And then suddenly, almost out of nowhere, I see a body come running towards the infected person. It’s an odd run, almost goofy. I can’t make out the body at first, but immediately, I know it’s not Gendry’s, it’s much too bulky, and nowhere near as tall. The body below whimpers in fear, with a large gun over his hands, _ our _ gun, _ the shotgun_. 

“Don’t!” I hear from Gendry. 

When I look again, I quickly realize the bulky body belongs to Hot Pie. Hot Pie holds the shotgun to the infected person’s head, standing there shaking while the chompie approaches him. He screeches in fear.

“_NO! NOT WITH THE SHOTGUN_!” I shout, and less than a second later, I hear the piercing noise of the gunshot. It echoes through the forest, and signals our location to anyone or anything that might roam near. 

Jon

The grim dining hall rings with the chatter of people. _My_ people. I sit quietly on the bench while everyone speaks amongst one another, consuming their lunches of roasted deer and steamed cabbage in the process. My mind is _ elsewhere_. I feel Ghost’s head on my lap. I pick up a slab of meat from my metal plate with my fingers, and hold it against Ghost’s nose. He gently pulls on it with his teeth before I let it go. I feel the motion of his chewing against my thigh. 

I look forward, and find Val staring at me. Her fork pokes at a piece of cabbage, and then a piece of meat. She looks down at her food without saying anything to me, bringing the fork to her mouth. Samwell looks at me with his round pale eyes. Val is to his right, and Pyp and Grenn are to his left. Sam looks over at Val nervously. Pyp and Grenn talk to one another about their infected _ kill-count_. I see Val side-eye them menacingly. 

The past couple of days had been quite the trial. On one hand, I found that the soldiers were upset at the idea of a new party being sent to scout the North for _ The Wolf Pack_. Val had taken me aside and informed me that they were in the right to be upset, and suggested I ask for volunteers rather than picking soldiers at random. _ “The men who are upset with you, are the men who will not bend over backwards for your cousin. Please understand that.” _ I agreed to Val’s suggestion, though the idea strangely filled me with dread. 

On the other hand, there was word of Stannis Baratheon, his soldiers, and his family making their way to Black Union. People whispered that his daughter, _ Shireen_, was immune. Her face was said to look half-infected, gray, cracked and marked with protruding veins. _ Surely_, it couldn’t have been as horrific as people described it. Stannis wanted the physician Aemon to study her blood, wanted to merge our soldiers, and attempt to restore the world, _ together_, o_r something along those lines_.

I don’t know that I believe our world is a world that _ can _ be saved. Still, I know I owe it to everyone to at least try. Val didn’t like it much when I agreed to accommodate the former supreme leader’s stoic brother and his people. Perhaps Val was right to be upset, she was almost always right about these things. 

The voices in the dining hall start up again like white noise. Sam looks over to Pyp as he shakes his head annoyed at Grenn, Pyp’s large ears poking out through his dark hair and making him look goofier than ever. They’re all dressed in black t-shirts, jackets, and black pants, all besides Sam, who wears black scrubs and a silver chain around his neck where the others wear holsters over their shoulders. 

“Everyone knows that’s _ shite_.” Pyp shouts. 

“It might not be shite,” Grenn responds with his mouth full of food. “None of the royals ever get sick.” 

“Says who? What royals has your dumb arse ever met?” 

Grenn looks down at his nearly-empty plate defeatedly, and shrugs. He looks over at me almost shyly, I see him gulp down his food with that thick neck of his. Then he looks over at Sam. “Jon and Sam are sort of-”

“-no.” Pyp interjects. He lowers his voice. “It’s _ not _ the same. They were ousted as children.” Pyp’s eyes dart up and fall on me meekly. For a second he looks scared. He shakes his head. Regret evident in his hollow face. “-I’m sorry commander,” He stutters, “I … I-I only meant-”

“-it’s alright,” I assure him. I knew the rumors all too well, _ the rumors that the royals were vaccinated_. Maybe it was true, there _ had _ to be a reason such rumors would blow up. The men in camouflage surely believed them. It was hard not to believe them, even a little. I had witnessed no evidence of vaccinations in the Winterfell estate, but again, I was never offered all the privileges that my siblings were, and I was so often left out of things. I was only meant to be a soldier my entire life, I wasn’t supposed to be anything more. 

“_Besides_, there _are_instances of royals getting sick. Just look at what happened to the supreme leader.”

“That doesn’t count! The infected that bit into him was said to have torn out half the man’s belly!”

“The point _ is_, he died from contracting the _ Grey_.” 

“How do _ you _ know that?” Grenn asks as he shoves more food into his bearded face. 

“I just _ do_.” Pyp answers.

“But you don’t,” Val says matter-of-factly. She averts her eyes to Pyp. “It’s just as likely that he died from any other infection. In all _ honesty_, _ the fool _probably just bled out.” 

There’s a silence within the bench. Pyp, Grenn, and Sam never dared to disagree with Val, they took everything she said and held it as truth. It wasn’t that Val was scary, or even mean, she just commanded respect in the same way Pyp, Grenn, and Sam _ didn’t_. She looks over at me, with her long eyelashes, and her pretty blue-gray eyes. Her silky golden hair is slicked back in a long braid that falls over her shoulders. She smirks at me and then proceeds to wink. 

“That’s what I thought too.” Sam pauses. “Well, that he-he probably _ did _ … _ bleed _ out.” Sam says it much too late. Val looks to Sam and smiles. Samwell’s round face goes scarlet in response.

The death of Robert Baratheon should’ve came as a relief to me, back five years ago when it happened. But the drunken idiot’s death did nothing for me. It was all-thanks to him that I was ousted as a _ Stark _ and a _Targaryen_, that I was despised by Catelyn Stark, and sent to _ Order Starfall_. He would’ve killed me if it wasn’t for my father, Ned Stark, being his best mate. _ Well ... _Ned Stark hadn’tbeen my father, at least not biologically. My father was Rhaegar Targaryen, and my mother was Lyanna Stark. I never knew either of them. I hadn’t known of them until my father told me of them. He told me on the day I left for Order Starfall. For most of my life, I thought Eddard Stark was my true father, thought Robb, Sansa, Bran, and Rickon were my siblings, but that was wrong. I was meddling in a family that wasn’t mine.

With Arya, I never felt like I was meddling_. Arya_. I couldn’t call her cousin if I tried, I couldn’t even call her _ half-sister_. _ Little sister_, I quickly think. I haven’t spoken the words out loud in so long, I wonder if I ever will again. I find my heart fill with dread at the thought of her.

I sent a search party out to find her almost two-weeks ago. I’m not expecting them to find her. I followed Val’s suggestion, about asking for volunteers in order to keep the soldiers happy. Only five had volunteered. Dareon, Karl, Jaremy, Rast, and Donnel. They were all young lads, and decent enough soldiers, but I didn’t know them well except for Donnel, who was _ alright _ when he wasn’t making japes, or Rast who was never the friendliest of men. Perhaps that was a good thing, the outside world was not friendly either. I wanted to send Bowen Marsh in Rast’s place, but Val argued against it.

I had watched them go on brown and black horses, wearing all black. They carried large backpacks on their backs, and strapped over their shoulders were their numbered AKMs. I told them to steer clear of the highways, and to search along _Wolfswood_, based on Samwell’s suggestion. _ “Why would they have abandoned their truck to continue on in the mainlands? On foot it must be incredibly dangerous. Surely, they must have gone somewhere quieter, and safer. Perhaps the Wolfswood?” _ I decided to run with Sam’s idea. I found my faith in these men was running short.

_ I was one failed mission away from going to look for the wild little girl myself. _

“You’re quiet, _ commander_.” Val says suddenly with a smirk on her face. I feel Ghost from below me, his head resting on my thigh. I pick up another cold slab of meat from my metal plate, and place it in front of his face. I feel him bite it out of my hand, this time more impatient than last time. 

“That’s nothing new,” Grenn throws in. 

I shrug, looking from Val to Grenn. From the corner of my eye, I see people stand from their designated benches, most of them probably off to do their _ daily duties_. 

“What do _ you _ think? About the vaccine rumors?” Val asks. I see the lads lean in closer, they never asked for my opinion on the matter before, I never thought they actually cared. 

“I don’t know.” I say. “Perhaps it’s true, perhaps not.” 

Val snickers. “None of us _ really _ know. But … what do you think?” 

I suspect they’re true, but I don’t say so. “I think it’s quite stupid. Why would anyone hide a cure?” 

Val shrugs. “There could be hundreds of reasons why. It’s easier to keep people in line when half the world is sick, and the other twenty-five percent is killing each other. But, I agree, _it’s stupid_. When has the world been anything _ but_?” 

“You asked me what I thought, and I told you.”

Val sighs. “That’s fair.” She says. 

Pyp, and Grenn stand from the bench in unison. Looking from us and back to one another awkwardly. “We’ve got harvest duty,” Pyp says quickly as he accommodates the holster on his small shoulders. They stand and grab their empty plates. 

“_Commander_.” Pyp says first. “_Lieutenant_.”

“_Commander_.” Grenn follows. “_Lieutenant_.”

They walk out of the dark and narrow dining hall, side by side. Behind them, soldiers follow them out as well. And from the corner of my eye, I could see some more of the others start to get up as well. Lunch time must be over, I think, as the hall begins to clear out. 

“I’ll be off too, Aemon is surely looking for me.” Sam says nervously. He stands quickly, nearly stumbling on his own feet. He blushes embarrassed, probably hoping Val didn’t catch his clumsiness. He nods at us, bowing slightly. The gesture is odd, but I just excuse it to nerves.

“I’ll see you later, Sam.” I say. 

Sam walks off, his black scrubs tight on his large body. It seems the rest of the hall follows him along. I find myself getting lost in the motion of the uniformed people’s movements, their boots stomping onto the concrete floors, the sounds of guns shifting against hands, and the sounds of their chatter as they retreat one by one. The hall echoes with a silence, only a handful of people remaining in the space. 

Val sits and stares at me deeply, like she’s trying to figure something out. I _hated_ when she did that.

“What?” I ask. 

“Nothing. It’s just. _ I don’t know_.” 

“What?” I press. 

“Your relationship with your cousin is … _ unnatural_. I mean, why haven’t you tried to look for your other cousins? I’m sure you don’t think they’re _all _ dead?” 

I had heard some whispers of Sansa’s whereabouts in the east, but her and I were never close. I’m sure she forgot me just as easily as I forgot her. Robb, and my father were dead, and Bran and Rickon were lost, and never heard from again. I wonder if I’d search for them if I knew where they were. I know I’d search for Robb, and Bran, but perhaps not Sansa and Rickon. As much as I loved them _ too_, I knew that I wouldn't. Perhaps, this world had made me cruel. 

I shrug. “We were close.” 

“How close?” Val asks suggestively. 

“Very close.” I say, slightly annoyed with her tone. 

She pauses for a second, seemingly in thought. Ghost moves out from under the bench, and begins to pace around the nearly empty dining hall, uneasily. 

“Do you really think those rumors are untrue?” 

I look at her straight in the face. “Yes.”

She shakes her head, a slight smile breaking into her face. “I don’t believe you.” She shakes her head again. “I don’t believe you at all.” 

“Don’t ask for my opinion, and become bothered when it’s not what you want to hear.” I say dully. 

“Well, I think it’s true. And if your cousin is found, we could have Aemon test her blood and-”

“-_no_.” I furrow my brow in frustration, “She _will not_ be used like a lab rat.” I say it almost sinisterly, unable to recognize my own voice. 

Val scoffs, shaking her head in disbelief again. “But it’s okay if it’s _ Bella_, or _ Dalla_, or _ Mance _ or _ Shireen Baratheon_? How is that fair? You’re _ supposed _ to be fair, you’re supposed to do what’s right. It’s why they chose you.”

“I’m _ trying_.” I say in defeat. And I _ am _ trying, trying to find _ something _ to make all this shit worth anything. 

“Are you?” Val clenches her jaw and stands up from the bench, and slides out. She grips the strap over her shoulder, and looks down at me frowning. “This isn’t the estate anymore. _ Here_, we have an objective, and if you don’t mean to take it seriously-”

“-I’m taking it seriously!” I press. I stand before her at once and meet her eye-to-eye. I hear the sound of Ghost’s claws against the concrete as he moves towards me. Val’s eyes soften when they clash with mine. She looks into my eyes, blinking gently with her eyelashes fluttering elegantly. Her features suddenly begin to soften as her eyes roam lower and fall onto my lips. I feel myself shiver. She brings her fingers to my face. I feel eyes on us, but ignore it. She brushes over my lips with her fingers, stepping in closer to me, causing us to be only a few inches apart.

“You know, love has limits, Jon.” She whispers seductively before closing in on me. She plants a light kiss on my lips, and I return the gesture, feeling my eyelids close in the process. Her full lips part from mine at once, leaving my lips moist. When I open my eyes, I realize she’s already inching away. She looks down, and squeezes my shoulder, before walking off. I don’t watch her leave. 

I stand there for a second, in thought. Ghost nudges my hand, and I go to run my hand into his soft fur again. He yelps lightly as he feels my despair through my fingertips. I think of Val’s words, _ “You know, love has limits, Jon.” No_, I disagree at once. _ It doesn’t. _


	3. Figment

Gendry

Arya and Lommy stand over an _ injured _ Hot Pie. Lommy holds Hot Pie’s hair out of the way as Arya works on the gash behind his head with the needle and thread she had me sterilize in boiling water. She looks on focused, her hair tied back, and her trembling fingers caked with Hot Pie’s blood. The boy cries to himself softly, with his eyes shut tightly, as Lommy holds his fat head still. It was _ me_, I am to blame for this.

I nearly killed Hot Pie when he fired that shotgun. I pushed him against the trunk of the tall oak in front of the house, my fury boiling inside me, and making me see in reds. _ “Do you ever think, you hopeless fuck?” _ I had grabbed him by the face while he cried, and shook with fear. Arya was yelling at me to, “s_top_!” And to, “_leave him alone!_” The words, “_he was only trying to help_,” playing over my rage.

I let him go, but not before I shoved his head back against the oak with one last impulsive move, with one last twitch of anger. The wood made a slight cracking noise when his head jerked backwards. His face froze up in shock. And for a second, there was a silence between the group. Arya, Weasel, and Lommy were all outside now, watching closely, to see if I might’ve killed Hot Pie amidst one of my many outbursts. 

The sound of rustling leaves, and howling winds returned all at once as soon as we realized that Hot Pie did not lose consciousness, or drop dead. He brought his fat fingers to the back of his head, while looking down at the leaves on the ground. He then brought his hands back and over to his face, he was trembling. We all looked at his hands, watching how the thick red blood oozed from his fingertips. 

“_You’ve killed me,_” he shouted. “_You’ve killed me!_” I tried to tell him I didn’t mean to, but Hot Pie was too hysterical to let me have one word out. I only stood there blank-faced, my anger morphing into guilt. It was Arya who calmed Hot Pie down, who put her hand on his back and caressed him tenderly. Of course, Weasel had followed suit, grabbing Hot Pie’s bloody hand and stroking it. Arya assured him that it was going to be alright, and that they’d wash his wound and patch him up. 

I hated to see Arya’s arms around Hot Pie. It was almost as if he were a toddler, a toddler who stubbed his toe and was going to his mother for some sweet kisses, and meaningless words of reassurance. Hot Pie didn’t deserve her comfort. 

…

I walk down the steps, feeling my drowsiness still lingering. Nymeria runs to me and nudges me excitedly, whining in the process. I push the hyper wolfdog away as she continues to jump on me, attempting to lick my face. “Stop. It.”

Nymeria obeys at once, whining as she turns away and returns to her human sitting on the couch. I see the back of Arya’s head, her hair is tied back. She faces me, giving me one quick look before turning her back at me sharply. 

She’s still angry with me for shoving Hot Pie’s head into that tree. We’ve hardly talked the past several days. I mean, it _ was _ an accident, _ sort of_. I might have meant to shove Hot Pie’s head against a tree, but I didn’t meant to injure him as badly as I did. I walk around the couch, and plop myself on the cushion beside her, her pistol lying in between us. Her large gray eyes find mine, and she looks at me sideways, a pout on her face.

“Any biters today?” I ask. 

She shakes her head. “Not one.”

Just as I suspected, the biters came lurking in our area bringing nothing but sickness and burden. The first month inside the magical house was _ too _ sweet, it was only a matter of time before something like this happened, but of course, it could’ve been worse. It could _ always _ be worse. 

The chompies weren’t as mobile in the cold. That was for sure. They moved agonizingly slow, but they _ moved_, growled, and tried to eat you nevertheless. The first couple of days, following the _ shotgun incident_, it started with about five chompies a day. After that, it was three to two a day. And now, a week later, they were all gone — for the most part. Still, the bodies pile up quickly. Arya and I realized that we’d have to move them out, and bury them before they could rot, contaminate the pond, and/or attract newcomers. 

We’d walk a couple miles North of the house, pulling the infected with the ropes that we tied to their ankles. The first time, I went with Lommy, he didn’t stop talking the entire time. He spoke about his first sexual experience, and how the girl had red hair, and large breasts. Lommy was always talking about women with big breasts, it was obvious he has a type. Still, I’m sure his entire vulgar story was just a fantasy of his, a figment of his imagination. The second time, I went with Arya and Nymeria. Arya and I hardly spoke at all unless it was regarding the chompies, or Nymeria. It was a great contrast from my run with Lommy. Arya didn’t dig as well as Lommy, but Nymeria’s digging surely helped us along immensely. _ Perhaps the wolfdog wasn’t all that bad to have around_. 

Since Hot Pie is injured, and Weasel is too little to help, they’re saved from the burden of these laborious biter-burying operations. _ Of course_. The fat bastard caused this and he gets to stay in the house wrapped in a blanket, eating soup, while he’s comforted by Weasel’s songs, Arya’s reassuring words and her constant checking on the state of his injury. The injustice of it all made me feel terribly sick. 

“There are two bodies outside. It’s yours and Lommy’s turn to-”

“-yes, yes, I know.” I huff, already feeling as my blood boils inside me. 

There’s a pause and I watch as Nymeria stares at me deeply, her golden-eyes intense. Arya runs her hands inside the wolfdog’s fur and Nymeria’s focused eyes brighten up at once. 

“He didn’t mean to.” I know she’s talking about Hot Pie, and I roll my eyes before I can think to stop it. 

“Neither did I,” I retort defensively.

She shakes her head and turns her body towards me. I notice the necklace is tucked inside her shirt, as it usually is. Her gray eyes sparkle, and her solemn face smiles almost sadly. “I _ know _ that, Gendry.” 

I feel my chest tighten. 

“We shouldn’t be terrible to each other,” she says while looking down. “We’re _ all _ each other has.” 

I nod in agreement, not able to say anything at first. With her hair tied back, I could see all of her face. I notice her smooth skin, her few brown freckles, the shape of her long face, and her wild dark eyebrows. I pause before I say it, but I say it. “It’d be better if it were just you and me.” 

I notice her cheeks turn red. She looks up at me with her brows furrowed. “You mean it'd be easier.” 

“Yes.” I admit. “_And _ better.” 

“You don’t mean that.” 

“I do.” 

She pauses.

“I could never-”

“-I know that. _ Better _ than you.” I respond aggressively. “I’d _ never _ ask you to.” 

“You really hurt Hot Pie. You’ve got to control that temper of yours. You’re lucky it didn’t get infected, otherwise-”

“-we’d be free of him?” 

Arya leans in just to punch me in the arm, I spot a little smile breaking into her face, and find myself smiling before I can think to stop it. Her eyes land on me, sort of tenderly. She looks over to me warmly, her face radiant.

“You know who had a violent rage as well?” She asks, a big toothy smile planted on her face. “The supreme leader!”

“_Oh shut it_ with the supreme leader already!” I say as I shove her airily. She nearly falls off the couch with her uneasy giggles. 

I don’t understand what her obsession is with the supreme leader. I never cared who my father was, and I didn’t understand why did. Maybe she _only_ said it to push my buttons. I see her cover her face, trying to mask her giggles. When I roll my eyes at her, she giggles harder. 

“Seriously? How old are you?” I ask hostilely. 

She shrugs. 

... 

Arya’s giggles die down after a while. And I notice that there’s a silence in the dark living room. It’s not the usual silence. From my peripheral, I notice that Arya’s staring at me, as she fumbles with her fingers. I could tell she means to tell me something. My thoughts go back to our kiss from all those days ago. Did she think about it as often as I did? And there was that question she was meaning to ask of me … did she still want to ask me now? 

I turn to stare at her. I watch as she brings a strand of her hair behind her ear. Her fingers are pretty; long and nimble. My eyes then fall to her plump small lips. She brings her tongue over them before she looks up at me bravely. 

“I wanted to ask something of you, Gendry.” She looks deeply into my eyes. My heart beating out of my chest. 

“_Yes_,” I say before she even asks the question. 

Arya

I sit on the center of the bed and look over to Gendry as he closes the door behind him, his movements slow. He begins to walk towards the bed, all sleepy-eyed and shaggy-haired. I untie my own hair, letting it fall over my shoulders. I dig my fingers into my scalp and muss it up, feeling immense relief from being freed of my wretched rubber band. 

I sigh and sit back, feeling how the night chill bites on my skin. Gendry moves towards me, his blue eyes piercing me in the process. I shiver but deny the urge to pull the blankets over my body. I rub my bare legs together to try to warm myself as my teeth clatter audibly, I don’t know if it’s nerves, or if it’s the cold. Gendry sits at the edge of the bed, right at the center. Nymeria lays on the floor to my right, whining because I haven’t summoned her onto the bed. 

Gendry turns and looks at me again. His eyes are trailing from my legs to my eyes. I tremble at the gesture and bring my arms over my chest insecurely. He inches closer to me, going on his knees on the bed, and crawling to the center. I watch as he stands on his knees, towering over me and casting a shadow. He pulls off the large brown jacket and throws it on the floor by Nymeria. Nymeria smells it and quickly goes to lay on it, that finally puts a complete stop to her whining. 

As Gendry then goes for his shirt, I notice the hair on his arms sticking up. He must be as cold as I am, even at his size, with all the muscle he’s carrying. 

“Don’t take it all off,” I say as my voice shakes. “_I mean_, it’s so cold, we should leave _ some _ of our clothes on.” 

He looks over to me as he pulls down his t-shirt. He plops down at the opposite end of the bed, and hunches over to study my face. He sits with his legs out, on either side of me, his sock-covered feet subconsciously tickle the sides of my thighs. His blue eyes pierce into me. He looks so handsome, just now. His hard jaw looks gentler, and his pale skin looks pink and vibrant by his cheeks, almost like he’s blushing. His arms look strong, slightly veiny, and his rough hands look larger. He pushes his black hair out of his face as he studies me, his eyes squinted. _ So handsome_, I think again, feeling stupid.

“_Arya_,” he says softly, “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.” 

I shake my head at once, feeling ashamed in a way. I don’t know what I’ve done to make him say what he said. I find myself chewing my lip nervously. Perhaps he didn’t want to anymore, perhaps he realized I was _ ugly_, and _ annoying_, Sansa and her friend Jeyne always used to tell me so. Jon had always told me it was a lie, but now I’m realizing it must’ve been true. I pull my knees to my chest, and stretch out my shirt over my legs, hearing the tear of the fabric while it stretches. I hug my knees, and start to feel twelve again, _ ugly_, _ scrawny_, _ loud_, _ brash _ and _irritating_. _ What was I thinking? How could I think Gendry would want me? _

“Bugger off then.” I snap. “Go rub one out to the memories of your precious _ Capital, and Riverland girls_, and leave me be.” 

Gendry scoffs. My eyes dart up at him and I catch him shaking his head and grinning. “You’re impossible.” He sneers. 

“_I’m _ impossible?” I retort loudly.

“Yes. _ You’re _ impossible.” 

Gendry backs out of the bed, lifting his legs from my sides, and moving them back towards the ends of the bed. His feet slam onto the floor at once. He’s now sitting at the edge of the bed, near the center. He sighs deeply, as he harshly rubs his face, moving his messy hair out of his face in the process. I stare at his broad shoulders and back, I see how short his breath becomes from the way his back moves in and out. 

“You can’t ask someone something like that and then just take it back.” He doesn’t look at me when he says it. He only sits, hunched over, with his elbows on his knees, and his fingers in his scalp. I freeze at his words. It takes me a while to process them, but I do. I bite my bottom lip hard in slight embarrassment. I could hear snoring from the halls, the fierce howling winds from outside, and Gendry’s short breath. I imagine the heat of his body on mine and shiver, feeling a warmth in between my legs. I pull my legs out my shirt, and stretch them out on the bed. 

Gendry shifts at my movement, looking over his shoulder as I slowly lift myself from the bed, and grip onto the fabric by my sides. 

_“What’re you doing_?” He asks quickly, turning his head towards me. 

“I’m _ not _ taking it back.” I say as I pull off the cotton underwear from my body, pulling one leg out of them, and then the other. I toss them aside on the floor, feeling Gendry’s eyes glue onto me. I stand on my knees and crawl over to him on the bed, my shirt long enough to cover my mound. He turns quickly and meets me halfway, bringing his legs back over the bed, and scooting towards me. We meet at the center of the bed, I stand on my knees, the chill of the night dancing up between my legs. I look down at him. He sits with his hands on his knees. Gendry’s mouth opens, and his eyes widen. My heart pounds so harshly I feel myself become light-headed. “_Well _ …” I say almost rudely, “_... your pants_.”

I watch him as he undoes his belt, and pulls it out with one hard pull. He throws the belt on the floor. I watch as it nearly hits Nymeria on the floor. “_Careful_.” I say. He apologizes half-heartedly, and continues to work on his pants. He unbuttons his jeans with one hard jerk, and his fingers grip onto his zipper. I watch as he quickly unzips himself. I tremble as I feel a drop of fluid leak from my opening. It runs down my inner-thigh in a warm trail moving south. I bring my legs together, slightly embarrassed. 

Gendry lays back on the bed, lifting himself to pull his pants and underwear off in one go. I see his length jut out of his pants, and find myself look away, like I’ve never seen _ it _ before. I feel myself heat up in a blush. I’m staring at sheets when I hear the sound of Gendry’s jeans hitting the floor.

Gendry sits up, his hands over his crotch. I bite my lip and walk on my knees towards him. He watches me with sleepy eyes, unable to say anything. When I reach him, I place myself over him, opening my legs in the process, and placing my knees at his sides. I push his broad shoulders down. The impact of my push doesn’t make him fall over, but he understands the gesture, and lays down on the bed on his back. Gendry places his hands on the sides of thighs, the coldness of his fingers making me whimper out unexpectedly. 

He grabs my arm harshly and pulls me down towards him with one hard yank. I fall onto his chest, feeling as his length skims against my arse. I blush again, and frown at his aggressive gesture. I pinch his chest through his shirt, our faces only inches apart. “_Ouch_!” He says with a cheeky smile. I lay on him now with my palms on his chest. I could feel his heartbeat through my fingertips. My eyes go to his moist lips, his pale reddened cheeks, his ice-blue eyes, and then back to his lips. I pull myself closer to him, my mouth slightly opened for his, and his is slightly opened for mine. 

I press my lips against his, feeling the thickness of his lips. His mouth feels moist and he tastes of man; masculine and sharp. The first kiss is a peck, and for the second I shift and lean closer towards him, digging in deeper. I feel his short beard against my mouth as my lips work on his, and his on mine. He places his hands on my face at once gripping me, almost harshly amidst his sudden passion. I follow his lead with my lips, finding the perfect pattern with each kiss. He opens his mouth wider, and I do the same. His tongue makes its way inside my mouth, moving around gently, softly scraping against my own tongue in a soft dance of sorts. I could still feel his heartbeat against my palms. 

I no longer feel the coldness of the room as Gendry’s hands move from their grip on my face down to my neck, slowly sliding even lower, and landing on my upper arms, his grip _strong_. Our lips continue working with one another, as the moisture of our mouths, and our paces intensify. A whimper escapes my mouth again. I feel myself become impatient, as my heat begins to throb, another trail of fluid leaking down the insides of my thighs. I tremble. I move my hands to Gendry’s face, lifting myself up slightly to get a hold of him, to kiss him deeper. His hands slide down to my waist, moving agonizingly slow towards my hips. 

When Gendry’s hands land on my bare hips, I moan, this time inside his mouth. He returns the sentiment, groaning softly while his kisses become fiercer. I feel myself rock against his hard belly, my shirt now riding up to my stomach, and his riding up to his rib cage. I feel the warmth of his exposed skin against mine. His hands roam down the sides of my thighs smoothly, up and down, his fingertips tickling me and making me shiver. The gesture makes my rocking movements quicken, my breath becoming short, and coming out in pants. 

“_Arya_,” he groans in between our wet kiss, and I almost miss it. Gendry’s hands move up from the sides of my thighs, his fingers exploring every inch of my skin. His hands keep moving north until they reach my arse. They land there as he spreads his fingers to feel me. I suddenly feel as if the room’s scorching. I feel mildly embarrassed as he squeezes, though it feels almost as nice as it does _ weird _ and _ foreign_. 

Gendry pulls away from my mouth. His cheeks look redder than mine feel, and his chest heaves, his breath visibly short. His black hair is messier than usual, and sticks to his forehead in a light trail of sweat. He smirks, and before I can reciprocate, he hugs my waist, and flips us over. I feel the room spin one second, and the next, I’m planted on the bed on my back with Gendry on top of me, looking over me. He plants his hands on either side of my face on the bed. His stare is deep. He opens his mouth a little, for a second I think he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. I find my eyes avert down towards his length. I see that it’s erected. This time I don’t look away. 

“_Arya, I think_-” He starts saying, and I sit up before he can finish whatever he wants to say. I plant my palms against his chest, and shove him back hard. He falls on the other side of the bed on his butt, the springs of the mattress creaking intensely. “_What’re you-” _I go on my knees again, and crawl towards him, watching as he studies me with his eyes focused and his mouth unclosed. I stand on my knees to shove him again, he falls on the bed on his back this time, the springs crying out fiercely once more. 

I climb over him once more, my thighs on either side of him, his body in between my thighs. I plant my palms on his chest. I could feel his erection again, against my inner-thighs. I bite my bottom lip as I begin to imagine the feel of it inside of me. I notice how the length of my shirt covers the sight of my mound when Gendry’s eyes search _ south _for me. 

“_Okay_.” I say as I begin to lift myself up. I prop myself up on my knees as I look down, carefully trying to align my sex with his. I could feel Gendry’s stare as I do. I hear Nymeria’s snores, the creaking springs, and my heart thumping inside my ears. 

“You should’ve let me … _ lead_.” 

“_Shut up_,” is all I manage to say through my concentration. 

When I think the angle is right, I go to grab his length, my cold hands wrapping around his thick warm shaft. _ It feels and looks a lot bigger than I thought_. Gendry makes a sound as he propels himself on his elbows, watching my movements closely, his eyes half-opened and gentle. _ He almost looks like he’s in a dream_. I hold it still while I begin to lower myself onto him. I have to shift a couple of times before I get it right, but eventually I do. 

I feel the head of his length graze my wet folds, as he throbs inside my palms. I find he closes his eyes as I descend down on him, ever so slowly. The head of his length enters my opening. Already, he feels snug and stiff inside of me. I lower myself down, inch by inch, trying to suppress my whimpering while he fills me. Gendry lays back, a groan escaping both our lips as I finally sit upon him. I feel the ache of his size already, a slight cramping sensation commences in my lower belly. 

Gendry’s hands go to my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh as he begins to lead my movements. I plant my hands back onto his chest as he squeezes my thighs, and lifts me up slightly. He begins to pump his cock inside me. I feel him rock hard against my walls. I become flushed at the feel of him. He slips out of me but grabs his length, and pushes himself inside me again. I taste blood from how hard I’m biting my lip. My movements become modest, and I find that feels best. “_Oh, gods._” I close my eyes as I move against his rhythm, moving forward and back just slightly, as his cock throbs inside my cunt. I feel almost-pain from the size of him, though the ache feels good too. 

A groans spills out of Gendry’s mouth again, this time it’s much too loud. I see Nymeria’s eyes pop open startled. I turn to Gendry as he keeps pushing into me. I lean over, and rest my upper body on his torso, taking my left-hand that’s planted on his chest, and bringing it up to his mouth. I bite my lip harder and close my eyes, as his movements become faster, I feel his hot breath clashing against my palms. 

“_Would you shut up?_” My voice comes out shaky, and yet another whimper comes spilling out without my permission. I open my eyes and see Gendry below me, my hand over his mouth, and his shirt sticking to his sweaty chest. He stares at me in a manner I can't quite place, with his eyes foggy and distant. 

I feel myself resume sliding in and out of him faster, feeling the intense pressure of his size now more than ever. Gendry’s hands slide from my hips, to my arse, and up my waist in a sweet manner, a tender manner. He jerks his head to remove my hand from his mouth, stopping his movements at once. I place my hand against his chest and study his face. I continue to move back and forward against his length with tiny pumps, while his face scrunches up in a way that makes him look as if he’s in pain. 

“_Arya _ …”

“_What _?” 

“_Stop _ …” I don’t listen at first, lost in the way his face scrunches up and his mouth widens. “_Arya … stop_!” He says again, and this time I do. I feel his cock pulsate from inside of me at once, my eyes widening at the queer sensation. Gendry sits up in a jerk, pushing me off of him aggressively. I squeal as he slides out of me much too quickly, and much too harshly. I fall on the mattress on my back, the old springs crying out loudly again. He hunches over me, his face digging into my neck, and his shaggy dark hair tickling my chin. I feel his length moving against my lower-stomach, I can’t see his face, only the top of his head. 

I feel a streak of a warmth fluid erupt on my stomach. I jump slightly at the sudden wet feel. Gendry tenses up against me, groaning loudly, almost as loud as last time. I feel the heaviness of his weight as he falls on me, his body still feeling tense. He twitches against me, as I try attempt to free myself of his weight, my legs stuck under his hard thighs. He twitches again and at once I feel him relaxing, his weight becoming heavier all of a sudden. 

“_Gendry_.”

His head pops up, and he looks at me looking dizzy and sleepy. “_What _?

“Get off,” I say in a strain as I attempt to push him away in a measly manner. 

“Sorry.” He says as he sits up quickly. He looks down at my stomach, flushed. “_I’m sorry_,” he says again. Gendry removes his shirt and wipes himself from my stomach with one quick movement, tossing his shirt on the wooden floor near a sleeping Nymeria. 

The chill of the room returns at once. I lay on my back and stare at the ceiling, cracked, white, with the paint peeling off. I pull my shirt down to my thighs, feeling as the fabric sticks to the remaining come on my lower belly. Gendry moves to sit at the edge of the bed, he’s completely naked. I observe the back of his muscled arms, the scars on his sides, and the brown beauty marks that scatter all over his skin. For a second, I have the urge to run my fingertips over his skin, but I don’t. 

Gendry gets up to retrieve his pants, and underwear from the floor. He sees my underwear next to his, picks them up and throws them at me. I catch them, slowly sitting up as I quietly slip them on, one leg and then the other. I watch him from the side of my eye as he pulls on his black underwear, and shortly after, his jeans. I hear the sound of metal hit the floor as he picks up his belt. 

He slides on his belt as he moves towards the wardrobe on the end of the bed, his footsteps creaking against the wood. He opens one side, and pulls out a clean yellow shirt that looks like it was thrown on the floor of the wardrobe. He pops the simple t-shirt on, it’s larger than his other shirts. Gendry turns to me, his blue eyes popping. I turn to go under the covers, suddenly feeling shy from the sight of my bare legs being out. 

From the window, I could see that the dawn is upon us. I blink sleepily, wanting nothing more than to go to sleep. I feel sore, and I ache. I still feel the cramping, the same kind of cramping I felt when Gendry was inside of me. I could still feel him in a way that’s not so pleasant anymore. It feels like my insides are rearranging within me. 

Nymeria gets up in a jerk when Gendry goes to retrieve his jacket from below her. She stands at once, and begins to stretch, her golden eyes falling on me as she does. 

“Do you mind if I take Nymeria with me? When I go bury the bodies with Lommy?” Gendry asks, his voice soft, almost polite.

“No.” I respond as I watch her walk towards me on the bed. She sits on the floor next to me, her tail wagging excitedly. I smile at her, and pat the empty-space of the bed beside me. She jumps on in an instant. 

“_No_?” He asks.

“No, I don’t mind.” I say. “Just don’t let her wander off. And clean her paws afterwards.” 

“Alright.” Gendry says as he walks towards the door with a nod. I slip into the covers, and rest my head on the pillow. Nymeria steps around the bed trying to find the most comfortable spot, and I do the same, turning over a couple of times before I find a nice spot on my side. I go into a fetal position, my cramps not as intense this way. Nymeria lays on my right in a tight ball of gray fur. She leans her head on my pillow next to me and sighs. 

I watch Gendry as he opens the door, his jacket over his large shoulders. The door creaks as he goes to leave.

“Gendry,” I call out and he stops, his eyes pointing at me curiously. “Don’t tell anyone about this. Not Lommy, or Hot Pie or-”

“-Don’t worry,” he says rudely, cutting me off. I notice how his face goes sour with disgust. He shakes his head, and slams the door behind him. Nymeria and I jump at the same time. Surely, the sound of the slamming door had woken the rest of the wolf pack up. I could hear his footsteps, hard and angry from the halls. 

“_Stupid bull_,” I mumble to myself before shutting my eyes. I feel Nymeria’s heat radiating from her body, and quickly find comfort in it. I place my fingers through her fur and caress her sweetly. I think of Gendry’s words: _Don’t worry _ . What could he have meant by that? I close my eyes tighter and tell myself I don’t care, and that he’s a stupid irrational ball of rage, and most of the time, his words meant nothing. _ His words mean nothing to me_, I tell myself again and again right before I’m consumed with my strange, and extremely vivid dreams.

…

_ “Don’t you love me anymore?_” 

I wake up to the sound of silence, and the frost of the room. Nymeria is no longer beside me when I wake up. The room is lit up by the gray daylight. I don’t hear anyone inside the house, surely everyone must’ve been awake by now. By the light, I guess it’s late in the afternoon. I begin to feel the soreness between my legs again and suddenly, all my memories from the early morning before come rushing inside my head. I freeze in almost embarrassment. I can’t believe I let Gendry see me like that, so vulnerable and … at once I come to remember my dream from last night, and my embarrassment increases tenfold. 

_ My dream was of Jon. Jon Snow. _

_ It was vivid, much too vivid. I was back in the Winterfell Estate, the sounds of a celebration booming out in the background. I could see snowflakes fall from the night sky from the windows. I was inside my room, with Gendry, and Nymeria too. Gendry was on top of me, and we were both completely naked on my bed, our skin glimmering with sweat. Gendry pumped inside me, in and out, I could almost feel him again in my sleep. I held him as he moaned and groaned loudly, his muscular body looking godlike and glowy. _

_ Then there was a knocking. “Arya open the door.” Behind the eerie black door I could hear his voice, my big brother’s voice. _

_ Gendry kissed my neck and touched me all over, insisting I “forget about him.” Gendry’s touch felt sweet and I couldn’t pull away, not even with the door banging louder, and louder. “Arya open the door!” His voice was angrier now, angrier than I ever heard it. Jon had never shouted at me before. I smiled wickedly as the banging continued and Gendry continued to fuck me, looking like some bronze God. _

_ “Little sister,” even in the dream the words were knives. “Don’t you love me anymore?” _

… 

I descend the steps to find the house completely empty. I notice that the house smells of cooked beans, and spices. The living room is bare with nothing except the old couch, the coffee table, and a bookshelf on the side full of board games, puzzles, and a couple of old books. The ripped blanket on the sofa is folded neatly on the arm of the couch. 

I walk into the white kitchen, and the smell of the food intensifies. The kitchen is almost as bare as the living room with nothing but a stove, some worn out cabinets, an icebox made of wood, and a plain foldable table with four foldable chairs. From beyond the back door, I could see Weasel and Hot Pie hanging clean clothes from a clothesline that’s tied in between two oak trees. I sigh a breath of relief at the sight of them. 

On top of the table I spot a ceramic bowl filled with a thick-looking soup composed of beans, and what looks like grounded up meat and vegetables. A plastic spoon lays next to the bowl delicately. I pick up the bowl and the spoon with my left-hand, and make my way outside to Hot Pie and Weasel. I could hear Weasel’s sweet song before I even open the door. The chill of the Autumn winds bite on my skin again, right through the warmth of my oversized gray jumper. 

Weasel’s high-pitched voice sings out loud in that lovely harmonious voice of hers. I watch her, her hair is in her usual double braids, she’s wearing her ripped gloves, a large jumper that reaches her scrawny knees, and a knitted red hat. She passes Hot Pie clothes as he hangs them up sloppily. 

_ I'll always keep you warm and safe ... _

_ And guard you with my gun _

I listen to Weasel’s song as I shove a spoonful of the thick soup into my mouth. It’s cold, much too cold, but the taste is nice, and the spices are strong. I watch as Hot Pie throws a t-shirt over the wire with little to no enthusiasm. I watch as he towers over Weasel’s tiny body. His bulky body is in a coarse dark jacket, and comfortable dark sweatpants. His head is still wrapped in linens from his injury.

_ And how she smiled … and how she laughed ... _

_ that widow of the tree _

_ She spun away and said to him, _

_ no loving words for me … _

I’m shoving in another spoonful of food when Weasel spots me outside, a smile lighting up her face. They’re a couple of yards away. Hot Pie turns to look at me too. He looks to the bowl and then to me. “Do you like it?” He asks with a soft shout. 

“I do.” I respond in between a mouthful of food as they continue to hang the remaining jeans, and shirts. 

Hot Pie nods and smiles to himself as he resumes to work half-heartedly on the clothes. “It’s called chili.” He says while he works. “My mum used to make it … it’s _ foreign _ or something.” 

“Chili?” I ask and he nods, his eyes still looking dark from his gash. “It’s nice.” 

The sounds of the leaves rustling replace Weasel’s little song, and a silence falls between us as I finish the remainder of my … _ chili _. 

…

“When did they leave? Lommy, Nymeria, and _ Gendry_?” I ask Hot Pie once they’re done hanging clothes and we’re all inside. I feel my stomach in knots. I put the ceramic bowl on the counter, harshly, nearly breaking the damn thing. 

“I reckon it’s been like an hour,” Hot Pie states while he makes his way to the sofa. He plops down in exhaustion, grabbing the blanket and covering half his body lazily. 

“I think it’s been a little longer than an hour.” Weasel says as she places her hands on my arm. “They ate before they left.” 

“How _ much _ longer?” I ask. 

“About two hours,” she squeaks. _ That’s not bad at all_. I find myself sigh with relief. Gendry must’ve fallen asleep when he was meant to move the bodies with Lommy. Usually, the job took about five hours, maybe more. Since it was Lommy, Gendry _ and _ Nymeria, it _probably_ wouldn’t take as long. I hope the night doesn’t catch up to them, and they’re back before sunset. I nod at Weasel and smile. 

She turns to me, her freckled face in full focus. She reaches towards me, and I watch as she goes for the chain around my neck. She pulls the half-heart necklace out from under my jumper. “_There_,” she says with a shy smile. 

… 

It’s sunset, and I could hear Hot Pie shifting about in the basement, as he looks for what to prepare for supper. My nerves get worse with every moment that Lommy, Nymeria, and Gendry spend absent. _ The next time we have to move bodies, we’re all going together. _ I sit on the cold floor of the living room, Weasel and I try to figure out a puzzle on the floor. So far it’s looking like some kind of log house in the woods. We only have the half-top done when I could no longer pretend to be distracted by it. Plus, it’s not like it really mattered since most of the pieces seemed to be missing anyway. 

I stand at once, pacing around the living room as my boots step on the floor heavily. I find my fingers subconsciously search for the comfort of Nymeria’s fur. I feel panic enter the pit of my stomach when I quickly remember she’s not here. I almost can’t feel the soreness of my physical body anymore. I stride towards the living room window as Weasel follows closely behind me. I look out the window and see nothing but trees, and the red and orange foliage scattered all around the ground of the Wolfswood. 

Weasel stands beside me looking outside as well. She puts her hand on my shoulder reassuringly. “I’m sure they’re on their way back.” I drop on the floor, and nod at Weasel’s words. Her words don’t comfort me, as much as I wish they did. I sit with legs folded, and Weasel sits beside me, leaning her head on my shoulder.

I hear as Hot Pie enters the kitchen. He meddles around with some cans and bottles of water, audibly dropping a few on the floor and cursing loudly under his breath. I fumble with my pistol, spinning it around with my index fingers, and trying to catch the pistol grip in my hand. I drop the gun a couple of times, but try again until I get it right. 

Weasel turns and crawls behind me to start playing with my hair again. She loosens my bun and musses it up at once. She starts combing out the knots with her fingers gently, and starts singing her song from earlier again.

_ And how she smiled … and how she laughed ... _

I start to think of horses, almost randomly. There were stables in the Estate, and I’d often go riding. I wasn’t allowed outside, neither were Bran, Rickon, or Sansa, but there was more than enough land and space to ride in Winterfell. I was a great rider, everyone had said so. 

_ that widow of the tree _

I flinch as Weasel accidentally pulls my hair with her fingers. “_Sorry_,” she says quickly. 

_ She spun away and said to him, _

Suddenly there’s a silence. I can’t hear Weasel’s song nor Hot Pie fumbling about with pots and pans in the kitchen. I become almost dizzy with realization. I catch the pistol grip perfectly in my hand, and a second later, my heart is dropping to my stomach. I peak outside the window not wanting to see what I think I hear. I hope it’s a hallucination, but I know it’s not. I hear them clear as day. _ Horses_.

_ no loving words for me … _

  
  
  
  



	4. Wolf-Blood

Jon 

The warm water hits my face, and as it does I feel the day’s grime wash out from my skin. I run my hands through my wet hair and watch as a black trail of dirt moves in a swivel down the drain. The hot water clashes on the tile floor and echoes through the space. My tense muscles begin to relax at once. A stream of water falls from my head and down my body all so soothingly, it almost feels as if I’m being held. 

The day was as mentally exhausting as it was physical. The last of the crops were harvested in preparation for the Winter. Aemon predicted an especially cruel winter. Even in the shower, with steaming hot water falling over my head, I could feel the frosty air sleeping through the walls. Steam clashes with cold air and creates a cloud that floats over the entirety of the shower room. It’s late, and I’m alone. I pick up the beige bar of soap that rests on the metal soap dispenser, and as I rub myself clean, my mind begins to wander. 

...

Stannis Baratheon and his team had arrived at The Black Union just a few days prior. He brought two-hundred of his soldiers, his wife Selyse, a majestic woman called Melisandre, and of course, Shireen Baratheon — the half-infected girl. Stannis Baratheon was tall and stern, with black balding hair, and dark blue eyes. His wife, Selyse, was almost as tall as him, mean-looking, with a light mustache growing at the top of her lip. Melisandre attracted many eyes, perhaps more than Val. She was tall, taller than most of my men. She had long deep-red hair, a heart-shaped face, and vibrant brown-red eyes that looked completely red at times.

It wasn’t common to see women like Melisandre anymore, _hell_, women in general were already so scarce, the beautiful ones were especially valued. As horrible as it was, men weren’t as enthusiastic about mating with the homely ones. 

Shireen was the last person I met. Like her father and mother, she was tall, though not as tall. Perhaps her sickness had stunted some of her growth. She was my own height, while her kin were a head taller. Her hair was jet black and long, very long, nearly reaching her hips. She wore it down, almost as a way to attempt at covering her _ scarred _ face. _ Her face_. The left-half of her face was almost as terrible as everyone had rumored it was. It was heavily-veined, dry, and cracked. Her skin there was gray and hard. The sclera on her left-eye was red and looked as if it were bleeding. I wasn’t expecting the girl to look as pitiful as she did. 

I shook her hand, as Val side-eyed me, and proceeded to avoid the young girl’s extended hand. As cruel as Val’s gesture may have seemed, I understood. Shireen looked ill, just _ days _ from becoming a biter, and it took me looking at her to realize this horrible truth; perhaps I made the wrong call offering Stannis and his kin a place to stay. _ But perhaps, I didn’t. If Shireen was to turn, surely it would’ve happened by now, it had been years since she was first infected, that had to mean something. _

Shireen frowned shyly at Val’s rejection as she looked up at me again, her voice soft and gentle. Her mother and father stood beside her grimly, their demeanors complete opposites from their daughter’s. Shireen was childlike in her visible insecurity, but she was a young woman already, not much younger than Arya would be. 

“Thank you for having us, Commander Snow. If you must keep me away from your people then let it be. My father says I’m here to help.” Her voice cracked. “I don’t mean to be a burden. I’m here to _ help_.” Shireen’s blue eyes filled with tears, a clear tear leaked from her right-eye, and a pale red one from her left. She wiped her tears away with the sleeve of her black fur coat and smiled over her anguish. 

I nodded, and approached the girl, grabbing her hands inside my own. I could feel Val’s disapproving glares pierce me over my shoulder. Shireen’s right cheek went red as her eyes met mine. Her mouth opened, in what I could only recall was mild shock. “We appreciate your help, Shireen. Truly. We appreciate the extra men you’ve provided us, and we appreciate your company.” I smiled, and gave her hands a squeeze. Shireen’s eyes darted to the floor embarrassed, half her face becoming even redder. She let go of our connected hands bashfully, and beamed up a second later. 

...

The water turns off abruptly, and the shower room goes completely silent. I realize I still have soap on my arms, and attempt to scrub it off quickly to no avail. I feel my arms sticky from the remaining soapy suds. “_Fuck_.” My seven-minute shower limit is up. Usually the time is more than enough, but today, as my thoughts are active and vivid, I felt the seven-minutes like seconds. 

I grab the black towel hanging over the curtain rod of the metal shower stall and begin to dry my wet skin. I feel as the warmth of the towel caresses me. _ Gods_, was it nice to have a shower. It was a pity one was only allowed one every three or so days, _ but _ water was a valuable resource, and to let the people of Black Union use it freely, was to allow so much of it to go to waste. 

I run the towel over my scalp, and then my face. The absence of the water makes the chill of the room more apparent. I feel the hairs on my body begin to perk up. I wrap the towel over my hips before I open the curtains quickly, stepping out in shivers. Ghost greets me with kisses on my damp legs, following me enthusiastically as I move away from the grim shower stalls to the grim locker room.

Ghost moves quietly beside me, and I feel the beast’s fur and heat against my fingertips. The gray walls of the locker room are a great deal colder than the stalls. As I walk past an array of old lockers, I rush to the back of the room where a creaky dark locker with the number seven written in black at its center, is ajar. I find my mind begins to wander again, this time it goes back to my dreams from a couple nights prior. It wasn’t common for me to remember dreams, but these didn’t seem to go away. I feel a chill move down my spine as I pull out black sweatpants, underwear, a t-shirt, and socks from the locker. I slam it closed a second later, and sit on the bench between the old rusty lockers and begin to dress. 

In most of my dreams, I was Ghost. Those were usually the only dreams I’d remember vividly. I’d be running through the Black Union buildings, through the halls, sniffing around quietly, the world in black and white around me. Or I’d be outside, the brisk winds of the North comfortingly blowing against my fur. I would hunt for hares with the starry skies above me and the moonlight shining upon me. I taste the taste of animal’s blood, the metallic and bitter flavor washing over my tongue, even now as I recall it. Ghost stares at me with his big red eyes, and goes to lay on my side. _ Could it be I was inside Ghost? Or were those dreams only fantasies? _

I found Arya make her way into my dreams again. I never dreamed much of my lost family members, and if I did, I seldom remembered it. It was only the dreams I had of Arya that I never seemed to forget. Usually, they were just memories, memories I had with her when she was all but a little girl, and I, just a green boy. We’d be in the yard, building castles with the snow, a big white tree with red leaves behind us. In another dream, we were inside the estate walls, a pouting Arya approaching me to tell me Sansa had said something mean to her again. Or my dream would be the last time I saw her, the day she was meant to be driven to the Capital, the day I gave her that parrying dagger, and a pistol. 

The new dreams were nothing of the sort. In the new ones, Arya was not a little girl, but rather a young woman. Petite, and skinny, but still very woman-like. Her brown hair that was so often in tangles was no longer tangled, falling down past her waist, the longest she’d ever worn it. Her solemn face glowed red, her toothy smile nowhere to be seen. She looked like a new person, the only thing that hadn’t changed was her eyes. They were still as big, and as gray as I’d remembered them. 

The dream I remember less vividly was of Arya, in nothing but a large shirt. She was atop an old bed, amidst the walls of a dull room. She sat upon a man with pale skin, and dark hair. His big hands skimmed her bare legs, as she moved against him with light bounces, sounds of pleasure coming out of the man’s mouth all throughout. I cringe and feel as my fists tighten at the memory of the dream. _Could that be the man they say she traveled with? The Bull?_ Even if it was, it was _only_ _an illusion_, _a fantasy_ that the Gods had crafted into my head to torture me so. 

I pull over my socks last, and stand. Ghost stands as well. As I begin to depart from the locker room, I think about my most recent dream, about how I’m sure the nightmares will continue tonight and how sleep won’t come easily because of it. That time, I wasn’t inside the house. _ The house_, I think. A sizeable house of two-stories surrounded by trees the color of Autumn. I was howling and scratching at the door. I reeked of earth. The sounds of a piercing scream made me howl and growl louder than ever. The commotion inside the house was intense and filled me with dread, as well as anger. I could almost feel those emotions stirring up in the pit of my stomach again.

I slam open the metal doors and exit the room. The halls buzz with complete silence. The darkness of the long corridors make me shudder, and the howling winds from the outside sound eerie, almost like they’re trying to tell me something. When the doors slam behind me, I hear the scream from my most recent dream again, and it’s clear as day. Ghost’s ears pop up, almost like he hears it too. “_NOOO_!” A voice yells. A voice so familiar, yet so foreign. A voice that I quickly identify as my little sister’s, except she doesn’t sound so little anymore. 

…

I feel my body wake before my eyes even think to open. “_Jon_?” A voice calls closely. “_Jon_?” I hear it again. I open my eyes and witness what looks like the soft evening light shining through the windows. A young woman sits beside me on my bed, and looks down at me, our faces inches from each other. At first her eyes look completely gray, her face looks sad and gaunt. For a second, I think I see brown hair attached to the person before me. It’s not until I rub my eyes, and look again closely that the girl before me becomes another. As my vision clears, I notice that the gray eyes are actually more blue, and the brown hair is actually golden. 

“There he is,” Val says with a smile. I find myself smiling back, as I begin to sit up from my bed at once. Val scoots aside as I move to retire from my bed, my eyelids still feeling heavy from my lingering drowsiness. I stand and walk to the other side of the room while I feel Val’s eyes on me. As I pass the windows, I notice that the sky looks like it’s at dusk. I look back at the girl as I stride towards the sink at the other end of the room. No water came out of the sink, its only use was to drain away water and nothing more. Perhaps it functioned as a sink in the past, but not anymore. 

“Why didn’t you wake me?” My voice comes out croaky and deep. 

“I came in earlier, but you looked so peaceful sleeping, I didn’t want to disturb you.” I grab at a wooden toothbrush at the side of the sink and then grab at the pouch next to it. I squeeze water onto the toothbrush as I dip the brush in a small container filled with a minty-smelling powder. I begin to brush my teeth quickly as I think about the duties that I have neglected. 

I turn to face Val. She sits at the edge of my bed, relaxed, with her legs crossed. She’s in all-black, in uniform, as usual. She wears a v-neck that accentuates her plump breasts, and tight black pants that hug her long legs. She wears a large leather jacket over it all, the inside padded to keep her warm. Again she wears her long hair braided, her braid falling over her shoulder and down to her belly button. Over her shoulders, she wears her holsters, two pistols in their designated pockets.

“You really worked yourself bloody last night with that harvest. You deserved some rest. _ Besides_, there wasn’t much in your lineup anyway. You were supposed to do an inventory of firearms, but I believe that was all.” 

I turn to spit into the sink. I squeeze water from my pouch into my mouth, and gargle the water before spitting into the sink again. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand as I move towards Val again. The room is small, but spacious due to its lack of things. There’s the sink on one end, a full-size mattress on the corner of the other end, a small table by my bedside, and a narrow rack on four tiny wheels that hold my clean black clothes.

I sit down beside Val. Our eyes finding one another’s. I don’t need to ask her if she ended up doing inventory-duty for me, it’s clear on her face. “Thank you, Val,” I say. She nods and then smirks, almost haughtily. 

“You’re _very_ welcome,” she says. 

“Where’s Ghost?” I ask looking around the room all of a sudden. “Did you let him out?” 

Val nods again and then turns to me. Her face looks preoccupied with something. “He looked like he was hungry, so I let him go hunt.” I wasn’t particularly keen on letting Ghost roam outside in the forests so often, but he was a wolf, and the building surely made him claustrophobic and uneasy. Surely, Ghost could handle himself, he might have been quiet and obedient, but he was also deadly and ferocious when he needed to be. I only nod at Val in understanding. 

“Jon.” Val’s face hardens all of a sudden, and she doesn’t waste any time, she says what she needs to say immediately. “The Baratheon girl has been roaming the buildings freely.” She shakes her head. “I’m not ungrateful for Stannis Baratheon’s forces, and resources, but the girl is a peril to have. When people look at her they’re not _ just _ disgusted, they’re afraid too.” Val points at her chest. “_I’m _ afraid. After what happened to Mance, to my sister-” 

“-I know,” I interject as I rub my face in distress. I knew this conversation was coming sooner or later. It’s obvious Val was not comfortable with the idea of Shireen Baratheon being given access to the Black Union from the start, and she had every right to feel uncomfortable. Though, it was difficult to go about things without possibly upsetting Stannis Baratheon. He had arrived to the establishment with men highly-experienced in survival, and firearms. He brought wheat, rice, and barely, enough to last us _two_ winters. Without his help, the establishment would’ve been struggling greatly, especially if the Winter was to be as abhorrent as Aemon claimed. 

“_Fine_. We’ll keep her in the operating unit.” I decide at once. 

“Is that an order, Commander?” Val asks, a smile creeping onto her lips. 

I nod and look at her with worry planted all over my face. “But please, Val, be gentle. Don’t offend Stannis, or Selyse in any way. _ Ask_, don’t command.” 

“But _ it is _ a command,” she presses. 

“It is,” I admit, “but don’t make it seem so.” I say and she nods. “And bring the girl all the books you can find, I hear she likes to read.” 

Val places her hand over mine and squeezes. “It’s _ just _ a precaution. I know they’ll understand.” I nod, not completely as convinced as Val, but alas I still make the decision nevertheless. Val scoots over closer to me, her floral smell heavily filling my nostrils. She takes my face in her right hand and strokes my cheek with her thumb. She looks into my eyes, and then her eyes fall to my lips. “I hate how strained our relationship has become,” she says, as her eyes move up to meet mine. “I miss how we were.”

I don’t know what to say, so I don’t say anything. I only bask in her beauty and do little else. I feel as her fingers go roaming from my cheeks to my lips tenderly. “I’m only hard on you because I want you to thrive.” She says softly. “I want us _ all _ to thrive.” She pulls me in and connects our foreheads. “I can’t stand to see you _ hate _ me.” Val grabs me by the neck and pulls me into a hard kiss. 

I kiss her softly, feeling her moist lips against mine. “_I don’t hate you, Val_.” I say in between our kiss. I grab her face and press my lips over hers tenderly. Val’s hands go to my waist as my mouth widens to make room for her tongue. Her fingers keep descending down, from my waist, to my stomach, and finally over my pants. She pushes her lips against mine more passionately, moaning inside my mouth in the process. 

Val rubs on my crotch over my pants, her breathing becoming jittery. She grabs my hands and plants them over her breasts, while she continues to kiss me hungrily. I feel her large breasts against my palms. I begin to massage them tenderly, the exact way I know she likes it. The young woman whimpers into my mouth, and again resumes on stroking me over my pants. But her efforts are to no avail. 

I close my eyes, and attempt to feel aroused. I think of the sight of her naked, big-breasted with her slender legs. I picture her wet and bouncing, her golden hair out and falling down to her sides. The speed of her kisses begin to slow down. I drop my hands to my lap, slightly ashamed as a man. I must have been the only fool in this entire place who couldn’t get a bloody erection over Val. At least, _not__ anymore_. I didn’t understand. I liked what I saw when I saw her, I liked her lips over mine, and the feel of her womanly features against my palms and fingertips. I liked her mature voice, and the way I felt inside of her. I don’t understand. _ What is wrong with me? _

She pulls us apart slowly. Her face already miserable. Her pink lips shine with the gloss our moisture still planted on them. She shakes her head. “I don’t understand,” she says. “Is it me?”

“No!” I blurt out. “It’s not _ you_. It’s _ me_. I’ve just been ... _worried_.”

“_Worried_? Worried about what, Jon?” She asks calmly, but her voice is straight and strict. 

I shake my head unable to tell her of the anguish I feel. Voicing things only made them all the more real. I decide, at once, that I wasn’t going to trouble Val with stories of my nightmares, or the causes of my never-ending anxiety, no matter how much she insisted she wanted to hear these things. “I suppose I’m just not in the mood.” 

“_Not in the mood _…” She repeats in a mumble and immediately I know I’ve said the wrong thing. Val stands from the bed and struts towards the exit, her steps confident and loud against the floor. She makes sure to walk away with her dignity. She reaches for the door, and for a second she stops, her back to me and her fingers gripping the knob. She turns swiftly to look at me, her eyes look like they’re welling up with tears. “I’ll leave you alone-” 

“-Val…”

“Tell me you don’t love me and I’ll leave you alone.” I don’t say anything. I only gulp and hope she doesn’t see my lack of an answer as an answer. I open my mouth to say something, _ anything_, but nothing comes out. She shakes her head again. “Oh, never mind it. This is pathetic. Go mute like Ghost.” She turns towards the door again and opens it wide, anger apparent in the gesture. As the door opens, I see a tall figure standing over the door. A woman in a long tight dress. My eye’s meet with the woman’s. 

“_Lieutenant_,” she greets Val with a smirk and a nod. 

“_Priestess_,” Val says stiffly with authority. 

“I came to see if I may speak with the commander. _ Alone_.” Melisandre asks as her eyes go to Val’s and then over to mine. 

Val looks over her shoulder to me and throws me a dirty look, full of suspicion, and disdain. “Why don’t you ask him yourself,” she spits while she strides off, into the halls and out of sight. Melisandre holds the door open, and while she turns her attention to me, I could still hear Val’s boots stomping against the floor. 

“May I come in, Commander?” 

“Very well,” I say as I stand and begin to make the bed, feeling the overwhelming impulse to keep up with appearances. The woman enters the room, and shuts the door behind her, grinning away as she approaches me. 

“There’s no need for that,” she says, “I’ve come for a visit. This is your space, Jon Snow.” 

I drop the covers at once, and toss them towards the corner of the bed. The woman’s presence suddenly making me feel uneasy. I gesture to the spot where Val was seated, while the woman in red walks seductively towards the bed, her head held high, and her posture perfect. I watch as the woman makes her way to me. I don’t sit until she’s seated first. 

“Is there anything I can do for you, priestess?” 

She shakes her head and smirks. “No.” She says simply.

“Then what brings you to my chamber?”

She doesn’t answer my question, only looks around the room observing as much as she could. “Your Lieutenant is an extraordinary woman,” is the only thing she says. She looks into my eyes, her eyes looking more red than ever. “An extraordinary woman with a sound mind. She’s right about so much, yet there are things she is wrong about too.” I stare at the woman with sheer curiously. She wears her dark-red hair in waves over her shoulders, her pale skin looks as if it were shining. “She lacks faith in you, does she not?” 

“She can be difficult,” I admit, “but she means well, and I know she trusts me.” I say sternly. “Even if she doesn’t agree with _ all _ of my choices.” 

“She _ should _ trust your choices,” Melisandre states. “You are a fair leader. And you are the son of a wolf, and a dragon. Your blood is powerful. That means something, Jon Snow, even if she makes you feel as if it’s not so.” 

I scoff impatiently.“What use is _ powerful blood_, priestess? It can’t give me what I want. Blood is just blood, isn’t it?” 

Melisandre stares at me deeply, leaning towards me closely, her thin ringed fingers reaching for my hands with concentration. “And what do you want, Jon Snow?” _ What do I want? _I don’t recall ever being asked that question, even though I’ve thought of the potential answer time and time again. She squeezes my hand much too hard as she leans in closer, her voice becoming lower. “You do not have to be powerless any longer. I could help you. Like Shireen, I am only here to help.” 

I shake my head, ready to reject her vague proposals, but instead I hear my voice betray me. “I want answers.” I blurt out at once, her eyes pulling me into her with a supernatural kind of magnetism. 

“_Answers_?” 

“About the vaccinations. Is it true? Do you know?” 

Melisandre only smiles and strokes the back of my hand with her thumb. She stares at me before she thinks to say anything. “The vaccines never reached Dragonstone.” 

I feel my heart begin to flutter with adrenaline. _ Could she be telling the truth? Could I believe anything that comes out of this woman’s mouth? _

“But they’re real?” I ask. 

She only grins, and continues to observe me. “It is a thing of the past. And it is gone now. It does no good to dwell on the past. We must look forward, it is the only direction to go now. Do you understand, Jon Snow?”

I strangely do. I nod.

“That can not be _ all _ you want. What other answers do you seek?” 

_ Voicing things just made them all the more real. _ I must be desperate to speak of such manners to a delusional witch, but strangely, I find the words easy to speak. My mind goes back to my dreams, back to the soldiers I sent to retrieve Arya, back to the sounds of her piercing screams. _ Could I have put her in more danger? _The possibility freezes me up with guilt. 

“_My sister _ …” I say. “_Cousin_.” I correct. “She’s out there somewhere. Last I’ve heard. I’ve been having dreams about her. It’s been weeks since I’ve sent men to find her. But every time I send men, they come back empty-handed. Would I be making a mistake by searching for her myself?” 

“Yes.” Melisandre says bluntly. “It _ would _ be a mistake.” The woman lets go of my hand and goes to stand up, towering over me beside the bed. “You’ve been powerless for most of your life. But you are not anymore.” The woman grins. She nods at me elegantly. “ _ Commander_,” she says, “It was a pleasure speaking with you.” I stare at the women in bewilderment. _ Was that what she came here to tell me? _Melisandre turns to walk away, her hips swaying from side to side in her seductive stride. 

When Melisandre reaches the knob, she turns to me. “Another thing your lieutenant is right about ... your sister _ will _ make it back to you.” 

“What?” I ask aghast. “_How _ could you possibly know that?” 

“This I have seen almost clear as day.” She says vaguely, her tone incredibly casual. A second later, she walks out the room. I don’t have the opportunity to ask her who she is, and how she’s attained all this information, information I’ve bent over backwards, for three years, to get. I lay back on my bed, as my eyes go to the ceiling. Outside the dusk light turns from orange to purple. I lay there in my own confusion, my stomach tightening in knots, as my nerves begin to consume me. I play the conversation with the priestess in my head, again, and again, trying to make sense of it all. 

_ Arya _ … _ perhaps I’ll see her again after all. _

  
  


Gendry

  


I open my eyes, awakening in full panic, adrenaline pumps through my bloodstream instantly. I sit up from the bed of foliage and soft mud. It’s dark, and in the pitch-black I can’t make much out. The first thing I feel is the pounding of my head, and after that the excruciating pain in my shoulder, and then after all that, I finally feel the cold. My hands go to my left-shoulder, and they shiver uncontrollably in the process. I feel a sting and a rawness where my hand touches my upper-arm. I wince in pain and force my hand back onto my shoulder to examine my injury. This time, I scream between my teeth. The smell of blood, and dirt fills my nostrils. I try to stand, the moonlight the only source of light as it beams up above me, making me feel smaller than ever. 

… 

I don’t know how long I was out, _ however _ long it was, I was lucky that no biters had come to find my body, laying vulnerable on the ground. It had _ all _ occurred moments after Lommy, Nymeria, and I, had left the house. Lommy and I pulled the infected bodies together, he held one end of the rope, and I, the other. I carried the hunting rifle over my shoulder, and Lommy a pistol at his belt. The shovels were tied among the sick bodies, with more rope. We dragged it all along behind us, in silence at first. Once we were far enough from the house, about two miles north into the woods, give or take, Lommy and I began to dig into the soft ground. 

“Nymeria, dig,” I commanded, but Nymeria had ignored me, Lommy smiled away at my frustration, and I felt my blood boil already. “_Nymeria_.” I repeated angrily. “_Dig_.” She ignored me again, the wolf was almost as stubborn as her master. Nymeria had only begun to whine at my words, looking around the woods preoccupied. I thought nothing of it, the wolfdog had a reputation for being disobedient, and impudent. It was a task to separate her from Arya’s sleeping body just that morning. The wolfdog was much too clingy, never leaving Arya’s side, not even to go hunting for fresh game like any normal wolf would. The obvious conclusion seemed to be that Nymeria wanted to return to Arya’s side, and that that was the source of her distress, of her whining, howling, and lack of overall help. 

It wasn’t after Lommy and I finished burying the bodies that I felt a chill in my bones. The late afternoon was quiet, _ too _ quiet all of a sudden. This time, Nymeria wasn’t whining or howling, but rather growling. I looked around the woods, seeing nothing but tall trees of red and orange leaves, and the gray sky up above. I heard the leaves rustling in the wind, and then I heard something else, just barely. It was the sound a crunching leaf. 

“Oh would you look at that? Now the bitch is growling. _ Worthless dog_.” Lommy stated loudly. I heard it again, the sound of a leaf crunching, but it was so distant that I almost missed it again. “If I had a wolfdog, it’d be the baddest wolf in all the land. Big and ferocious. _ And obedient_,” he spat as he eyed Nymeria. The wolfdog only ignored him. She had her ears pointed up, her mouth in a snarl. “What is she doing?” Lommy asked annoyed.

I stared deep into the woods, and saw nothing, but felt everything. “What kind of name is Nymeria for a wolf anyway? What kind of person gives their dog a human name?” Lommy picked up the shovels from the ground, and walked to stand beside me. “If I had a wolf, I think I’d name is _ Fury_, or _ Beast_,-”

“-Lommy ... _ please_, shut the fuck up.” I said quietly, as I watched the woods from the south. Lommy followed my eyes and looked around confused. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, smearing more dirt on his face. Nymeria snarled again, and when she did, Lommy jumped in surprise. 

“What’s going on? Who’s there? Is it a _ chompie_?” 

“Lommy,” I said quietly in a whisper, my body freezing up with sudden terror. “I _ think _ we’re being hunted.” 

“What?” Lommy exclaimed. “What do you mean?” Lommy froze up in fear just as I did, and then suddenly we became hyper aware of our every movement. Lommy’s eyes darted around the vast woods frantically. “What do we do? Gendry … What should we do?” Lommy dropped the shovels and ran behind a thick oak tree, when I failed to answer his question. As soon as he did, the first shot fired, it fired to my right in a blur, hardly missing my face. I ran towards the trunk next to Lommy, Nymeria running at my heels. 

And that’s when they _really_ started firing at us. I stood with my back against the hard oak, and to my right stood Lommy against the tree beside me, shaking though his face was confident and brave. Lommy pulled out the pistol and held it up, his eyes were closed and he mumbled something to himself that I could not make out. His blonde curls were drenched with sweat and sticking to his face. Nymeria whined uneasily pacing around uncontrollably, the sounds of the assault rifles firing sending her into a frenzy. 

Nymeria runs off towards the East, the sounds of gunfire following her but missing her altogether. She disappeared in a flashy blur of gray. Lommy stood against the tree, his eyes facing upwards. He shakes his head. “Is this how I die?” He asked beyond the sounds of bullets firing with great speed. “By two sadistic hunters in the woods?” He shook his head. “I guess it could’ve been worse. I could of died of hypothermia from bathing in that pond. Or gotten my head smashed against a tree by a _ raging _ bull.” I looked over at Lommy and shot him a dirty look. “Do you have a plan?” He asked. 

“Yes,” I said bluntly. “Wait until they run out of ammunition.” 

Lommy scoffed. “_Gods_, I wish Arya were here,” he said, and I felt the same way too. Together we were smarter, stronger, and safer, but _only_ when we were together. When the bullets ceased to fire I found myself taking a peek from behind the tree. Beyond the great foliage, some boulders, and trees up ahead, I spotted, from several yards away, a figure of a man in black. A man with dark hair, a light beard, and a stocky build. He spotted me, but not before I spotted him. I turned back to the tree as the man began to fire his gun again, the shots were vigorous, and made my ears ring. 

Then the sounds of another gun began to fire too, and their bullets crashed against the forest, booming against the afternoon sky. Small brown birds flew overhead, the sound of the shots echoing through the sky with a deep vibration. “I think there’s only two of them.” I said, temporarily believing that two men was hardly a challenge, considering we had survived past greater odds, with higher stakes, in the past. “We can take them.” Lommy turned his head towards me and nodded, his shirt completely drenched in his sweat. 

I reloaded the hunting rifle behind the tree. The firing ceased again, and in the distance I heard Nymeria howling away. When the rifle was fully-loaded and stocked, I raised the firearm up, and properly positioned it from behind the tree. I snuck one last peek to get a better angle on the man shooting from the east. 

“What’re you going to do?” Lommy asked.

“I’m going to shoot him.” I responded. 

“_Come out Bull, come out Greenhands, make this easier for us! _ ” The voice came from the dark man in black, his voice was raspy and cruel. _ This is personal_. That made matters all the more worse, if they had known of me, they also knew of Arya, Weasel, and Hot Pie. I thought of them, and became full with dread. Nymeria howled again, this time sounding even farther away than last time. 

“I need you to distract him.” I said quickly. “Run to that other tree, the lighter one, beside that small boulder.”

“What?! _ Are you mad_?” 

“Lommy just listen to me. Run fast, and make your steps unpredictable, these men are lousy shots. I need a couple of seconds to aim at him, and for that, I need a distraction.”

“I _ thought _ we were going to wait until they ran out of ammo.” 

“New plan.” I said. 

Lommy’s chest heaved as he panted, his breath was short. He shut his eyes tight, and had begun to mumble obscenities under his breath again, as he clutched his pistol against his chest. 

“Lommy,” I whispered as I looked into his light blue eyes, and offered his as much comfort as I possibly could. “We’ll be fine.” The boy nodded, his face turning red, his sweat running from his forehead down to his neck.

Lommy exhaled, his eyes closed. For a second he looked like that child-soldier I met in the capital seven years ago. He looked like that lanky, awkward boy, with the short golden curls, with hands seemingly green from being worked like a slave. _ The boy who never could shut his mouth_, that’s what the other soldiers called him. Now he taller, a tad bit quieter, and a lot more brave. When his eyes landed on mine, I nodded. And without thinking much, he ran off, bolting through the trees without warning.

I raised up the rifle, already in position. I moved from behind the tree, slightly coming into the man’s view. I attempted to find the man’s head through the rifle’s scope, but found my shaking fingers made it all the more difficult, my vulnerable position did not help my nerves either.

_ “You can’t keep running Greenhands! We can see you!” _

_Who were these people?_ _What did they want from us?_ The man leaped up from behind his boulder to begin firing at Lommy, and it was then that I finally had the man in my sights. With one inhale, and a steady exhale, I fired. I watched as blood sprayed from the man’s head. A second later, he collapsed behind the rock, coming completely out of view, falling like a weightless doll in the process.

“_Rast_!”

I felt myself smile, my adrenaline pumping me up with energy. A couple of yards away, I saw Lommy, unharmed and safely behind the light tree. I think it a victory, but towards the west I hear another voice, not as raspy, but just as cruel. 

“_You fucking animals!_” 

Before I could think to move back behind the tree, a bullet hit me in the shoulder, it happened so fast, and my adrenaline was so high, I hardly felt it at first. I moved behind the tree, feeling as my energy slowly began to subdue. 

“_Gendry_!” Lommy shouted. I leaned my head against the tree, as I slid down to sit on the ground. I felt the coldness of the leaves, and the chill of the Autumn. The painful sensation on my shoulder felt worse with each second that passed. Before, I even thought to examine my injury, I looked over at Lommy. He was closer now, no longer behind the boulder. He was running towards me. _Stupid_. He was in full view of the other man in black, the one that hid behind a tree towards the west.

“_Lommy, no!_” 

The gun began firing again, and as Lommy ran, with a pistol in hand, a bullet caught him in the arm, but he only kept running, dropping the gun by his feet. His pace slowed, as he grabbed his arm and continued to run towards me. _ A damned fool_. I couldn’t do anything but watch as it all played out before my eyes. After the first bullet found his arm, a second found his hip. The third bullet went through his temple. Lommy collapsed on the floor, only several feet away from me. Limp on the floor, his eyes crying blood. 

His blood instantly began to soak through his dirty jumpsuit. I closed my eyes in defeat. I saw Lommy like he was the twelve year old orphan again, talking, laughing, _ working_. Telling me stories of his many whores. _ Had he ever really had a girl? _ Probably not, _the poor lad_. He laid on the floor, and at first he twitched, his eyes staring at me calmly. “I’m sorry.” I told him as my voice shook. His lip quivered, and a second later, he went stiff.

The stamina within me had begun to deplete at the sight of Lommy’s dead body, and at the feel of my bleeding shoulder. The blood was seeping through my jacket already. I ran my fingers through the inside of the jacket, as I felt my entire left-arm numb from the injury. As I fingered the jacket, I realized there was a hole through where the bullet pierced me. Perhaps that was a good enough sign, but of course, there was always a good chance of infection. Perhaps it was my time too, perhaps it was for the best. I felt as my eyelids became heavier. 

“_You fucking killed him_.” A stranger's voice called, it was much closer than it was before. “Like it wasn’t enough that his brothers died because of _ youse_. _ You bloody fucking animals_. _ You wretched, evil, pack of wolves_.” The man sounded hysterical. I could hear his boots as they stomped against the foliage, approaching closer and closer. “_We deserve our revenge_!” By the sound of his voice, I realized where he was advancing from. I picked up the rifle weakly, an excruciating pang fell down my arms from my shoulders. I winced, as I pushed through, aiming the rifle, as his voice neared closer and closer. 

My hands trembled, the pain in my arm so terrible, my life felt as if it were beginning to slip away. Still, I pointed the gun, and as I did, I saw _ everything _ before my eyes. I saw my mother with her yellow hair and tired face, I saw the father I never knew, tall, muscular, with blue eyes and black hair like mine. I saw Lommy, and Hot Pie bickering about directions as they both took swigs of moonshine. I even saw baby-Weasel, with her tangled hair, shoving me away from Arya while holding on to her thigh protectively. And then _Arya_. I thought of the first time we kissed, and how she held me so warmly after. The thought of never seeing her again hurt more than any bullet wound ever could. I felt my vision as it blurred with the salt-water welling up in my eyes. The rifle was shaking more intensely against my fingertips. 

The man was almost near. I heard him. “Someone has to pay!” He bellowed. “Someone must!” He continued to walk towards me with his assault rifle probably drawn. I could not move, the only thing I could have mustered to do was pull the trigger. My eyelids were awfully heavy, and I felt Death’s cloak as it tickled my skin. I waited for the man to approach me. And _ eventually_, he did. He was also in all black, with black hair, and a long black beard. I could see him though it took him a second before he could see me. 

He pointed his assault rifle at me, but I had already fired. A bullet found him in the throat. The man gasped, and his large gun slipped from his fingers as he collapsed head-first into the soil. I dropped my rifle a second later, and before I could stop it, I felt my eyes as they went behind my head. I went crashing backwards, my head weighing a ton. I collapsed onto the floor, away from the trunk, and onto a bed of leaves. 

…

I look to my right and make out Lommy’s body. And to my left, lies the bearded man in black, _ the one who shot me, the one who killed Lommy. _ My body fills with fury at the vague sight of him amidst the darkness. I throw a rock at his corpse, and wince in pain a second later. I make my way towards Lommy, and crouch before him. I shut his eyes with my cold fingertips. “_I’m sorry_,” I say again as I stand upright and turn to leave. “_I’m sorry. I’ll come back for you_,” I mumble again.

I pick up the AKM from the bearded man’s corpse, and kick his face with my boot right after. I beven to stride off with nothing but the darkness surrounding me. I think of _ Arya, Weasel, and Hot Pie_. I wonder if they‘re alright, if they’re _safe_. Nymeria had disappeared after the firing initially commenced, surely she was running to her master. The thought fills me with dread. _ Could it be there were more of those men in black? Could Nymeria smell them? _My lonely stride turns to an uneasy jog as horrible images of Arya’s limp body consume my vision. I couldn’t bare to see her how I saw Lommy. I begin to run, ignoring my physical pain, and resisting the overwhelming sensation to pass out once more. 

  



	5. She-Wolf

Arya 

From outside, the white house glows with a soft yellow light. The wind blows through my fur, and above me a full-white moon glows ominously. I growl at the window, and I growl at the silence. From beyond the Autumn trees I can smell blood, and fear, and from the house the same smell lingers. I make circles around the house, trying to be quiet, trying not to trigger the guns from the men inside or awaken the sleeping horses. I know they don’t know I am here. I smell their fear, and smell the blood of my kin. Every passing second away from my body fills me with more wrath. The taste of blood fills my mouth, as I imagine sinking my teeth into the strange men. Sweet would be their taste. 

…

It all happened so fast. The sound of horses, the three men dressed in tough clothes of black, and the loss of blood. I shiver in my underclothes as a stream of red liquid drips down my nose. Above my eyebrow, I feel more warm liquid running down the side of my face. All the lanterns are on, and outside, the dawn is beginning to take over the sky. My hands are tied up on the bottom of the house’s iron radiator with rope. I try to squirm my hands out of the knot, as the snoring coming from the men hums in my ears and fills me up with rage. 

I feel Hot Pie’s eyes on me from the other side of the room. He’s rocking back and forth slightly, his body trembling still. His hands and feet are bound with rope. He sits on the floor, in the corner of the room, his straw-colored hair a mess, and his plump cheeks scarlet. A tear leaks out of his eye as I catch him looking at the small body on the floor. I look away at once, refusing to acknowledge the body, to accept the events that had transpired only hours ago. My fault. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

The men sit on the couch, there’s two of them. They both have dark greasy hair. Karl — the vile one, the one that wanted to strip me of my clothes, the one who shot Weasel, he was skinnier than his partner. His face was skeletal and his small dark eyes were cruel. I didn’t know the other one’s name, but he had a fuller face and had already sang two songs while Karl slept on the sofa beside him, our sofa— mine, Gendry’s, Lommy’s, Hot Pie’s and … Weasel’s. He sang of women, and love, and the sun, but only brought death, and hatred, and darkness along with him. He fell asleep sitting down, his head leaning back on the couch. 

The house hums with silence. I don’t feel as powerless as I did before. I close my eyes and see her out there. Nymeria. She snarls and paces, her teeth barred out entirely. She came back for me. I wonder what had come of Gendry, and Lommy. Surely, they were fine. In my dreams I smelt them. They couldn’t have been lost. No, not them too. 

The rope is so tight against my wrists, that I feel my fingers becoming numb. I bring my hands to tight fists and squeeze, still trying at my measly attempts of freeing myself from the rope. My eyes avert to Karl, and I find myself snarling at him so suddenly, so wildly. Then, without warning, my eyes go to the limp body behind the sofa. I whimper and look down at my lap. I recall her little boots, her brown hair in her messy braids, the bravery that possessed her in her final moments. I was supposed to protect her, and she died protecting me. The thought made me sick. 

Her hands shook as they went to the wound in her belly. She didn’t believe it at first, and neither could I. Weasel gone ... for the sake of me.

… 

“Several of our men gone, families broken … people who meant a great deal to us, people who were good and pure in a world of scum and sickness: gone. Gone for the sake of Commander Jon Snow’s precious little cousin. A horrible joke. More than half the world is infected and numerous lives are being traded off for a stupid little cunt with a rotten heart that’s no use to anyone or anything. No one else is going to be dying for you anymore, she-wolf. But I’ll be merciful, your body will be returned to your cousin in one piece, that I promise.” 

…

When they came, they came with easy smiles, with sweat pouring down their foreheads, with their cheeks crimson from the late-Autumn frost. I told Weasel to hide in the attic, her pistol wrapped tightly inside her small fist. I ran upstairs and made Hot Pie follow. He was trembling, his brown eyes full of fear, and his skin pale. “I don’t want to die, Arry. I don’t want to die.” 

“We’re not going to die, Hot Pie. Just sit tight. Grab the shotgun. And quit shaking!”

I watched them from the second-story window of Lommy’s and Hotpie’s respective room, I watched as they approached the house. They were all in black, holding the straps of their assault rifles over their shoulders. They both looked around curiously as they dismounted from their horses. It was then that their eyes then focused on the house. The skinnier one wore blood on his fingertips and neck. His hair was thin and dark, and his beard was growing in patches, completely pathetically. The stockier man was better-looking, not that that was saying much. His eyes were softer, his hair thicker and his beard not-so-pathetic. 

I bit my tongue, as I contemplated using the sniper, or my pistol — the one gifted to me by Jon Snow. I knew one bad shot with that sniper, and I was dead. I had never used the weapon before and the reloading was a nightmare in it of itself. I decided to opt for my pistol instead since Hot Pie was only really useful with the shotgun.

I watched closely as the men began to speak to one another. I could see their lips moving, the way they side-eyed the house and began to approach carefully. The sky outside looked pink and orange, sunset was upon us. With every step the men took forward, I had to think of what I should do. I couldn't let them enter the house, not with those assault rifles of theirs. I couldn’t let them possibly find Weasel. I had to do something, and I had to do it quick. 

Hot Pie trembled, his back against the wall. He clutched the gun to his chest, closed his eyes, and mumbled obscenities under his breath. 

“Hot Pie,” I said after an exhale. Hot Pie opened his eyes. They were big, wet, and brown. “I need you to point your gun at the one on your side. We’re going to show ourselves, alright? I’m going to open the window.” 

“But-but, it’s close-range, it won’t-”

“-it will,” I insisted. “Besides, it won’t come to that.” 

I watched as the two men began to tie up their horses to the trunk of a thick oak tree full of red leaves. The skinnier one nodded, and the other one shrugged before turning towards the house again. Every step they took closer to the house filled me with more and more dread. 

“You’ve got to trust me.” I said, and Hot Pie gulped and nodded. Agonizingly slowly, he had turned and went to his knees. He moved close to me, towards the window. His breath was short, and drops of sweat were moving from his forehead and down his fat cheeks. The sweat almost looked like tears. 

“One.” I said as I grabbed the base of the window, suddenly feeling my palms getting all clammy. “Two.” I said as I gripped my pistol tighter in my left-hand, and unsecured the safety with my thumb. I watched as Hot Pie did the same with the shotgun. “Three.” With one hard yank upwards, the window flew open with a clank. The draft came rushing into the room with a fury. It pierced at my skin at once. Before the skinnier man’s eyes met mine, my gun was pointed at his head, and Hot Pie’s had been pointed at his friend’s. 

“Move and we’ll shoot! ” My voice sounded shaky, pitiful, and raspy where it was meant to sound loud, powerful, and full-of-confidence. Still, the men had obeyed, they had brought their hands over their heads, their palms bloody. “Put-put down the guns. The skinny lad, first! Then … you!” I shouted. “Now!” They listened, but not before they stared at me, not before they scanned my face and their eyes lit up. I thought nothing of it. The skinny one had a sudden grin on his face when he dropped his gun on the colorful and crunchy foliage. He kicked it, and stepped back carefully bowing respectfully. The other guy did the same, except his eyes didn’t leave mine, and he didn’t kick his gun away, rather dropped it in a manner that seemed almost out of focus. 

“Good. Now step back.” They obeyed, and as they did, I felt a warm rush consume my body, I couldn’t feel the cold. From the side of my eye, Hot Pie still shook. It wouldn’t be long before they’d see his nervousness, and mine, until they saw past our dangerous-gunslingers-facade. “Who are you? And what do you want? What’s your business in the Wolfswood?” 

The men didn’t say anything, they only turned their heads towards one another and smiled. I gripped onto the gun tighter with my two hands, my sights were still on the skinny, and grinny lad. “Maybe they’re friendly. Arry, maybe they’re friendlies.” Hot Pie muttered helplessly, but I only ignored him. 

“I said, what’s your business in the Wolfswood?!” I froze as I felt a stream of cold sweat leak from my forehead and down to my neck. 

“Wolf-girl?” The skinny one asked with a confident smile. I felt my heart beating against my chest, and with the side of my eye, I saw as the shotgun shook against Hot Pie’s hands, still he held it where he was supposed to hold it, as bravely as I knew he could. “Your… cousin sent us. Cousin … is that right?” I gulped and when I tried to speak words, all that came out was a croak. The man smirked, almost sinisterly. “Yes.” He said at once with one hard look into my eyes. “You’re our business in the Wolfswood. You. Arya Stark.” 

At once, I felt a heaviness enter the pit of my stomach. I held the gun tighter all of a sudden, gripping it hard as a way to disguise how much my hands shook. It couldn’t be, he couldn’t be alive. I looked for him in Starfall, and there was not a soul in sight. All that remained were the ghosts of the people who once lived there, infected, and lost, and gone … just like he was meant to be. Something inside my heart stirred, something that was dead, or at least something that I had presumed was dead. 

… 

My mind had gone to the estate. To Jon and I, looking outside my bedroom window, and watching the Autumn flurries dance down to the ground. The night was cold and dark. From outside the window, we watched as father’s men huddled up beside a fire, Winterfell protected by these soldiers and a huge steel gate. Beyond, on the other side, I saw part of the Godswood, the place where father often found his shrine to pray to, and where Jon and I would so often run off to play childish games, games that he was much too old for and only played to indulge me. 

“Mother won’t let me go outside.” I told him with a pout. 

“It is snowing, little sister. And you’ve already managed to catch a cold.” He pinched my nose hard and gave me a cheeky smile. I slapped his hand away and then proceeded to fold my arms against my chest, defiantly. I remember trying to sniff as quietly as possible. My cheeks became flushed by his touch as they almost always did. I plopped myself on my bed. I already had my night clothes on, a simple cotton gray nightgown, that I had just started to fit into. Nymeria was all but a small pup, as was Ghost. When I planted myself on my bed, Nymeria followed, planting herself in a fluffy ball beside me. Ghost was all but ready to jump up beside Nymeria. Ghost was bigger, but quieter and more well-behaved. 

“Ghost,” was all Jon had to say for the pup to understand that he should not climb into my bed. I didn’t mind Ghost in my bed, he was a good pup, but it wasn’t often that Jon let the wolf indulge or misbehave. 

“He can come up. He only wants to play with Nymeria.” I said as I began to bury myself inside my furs, and wrapped myself tightly within them. Jon’s dark gray eyes fell on me. I watched as Ghost ran to his side, looking like an enlarged version of the flurries of snow outside. Jon stepped closer towards me, looking towards the door, and then back to me. He sat on the edge of my bed. His eyes looked melancholy. At the time, I was only 11, and he was only 16. 

“Your mother wants me to go.” 

“I know.” 

“There’s nothing I want more than to stay here with you, Robb, and Bran-”

“-I know,” I answered. 

My eyes had already become glassy. I had expected the conversation, I knew it was coming, but I didn’t want to hear it. Jon Snow was leaving, it was the start of the end of an era. I can still picture his face, even now. His skin was smooth and pale, his dark brown hair was long, reaching his shoulders messily. He looked so much like father, looked so much like me, but beyond that there was someone else in there too. His jaw was squarer than that of a Stark’s, and sometimes when I’d look into his eyes I’d see violet in place of Gray. 

He reached his hand towards my face, and wiped away a tear I had not allowed to shed. “Oh, Arya,” he said as he leaned in to plant a kiss on my cheek. He connected our foreheads a second later, and I felt as my breathing quickened. “When you’re of age, you can come to find me. If not, I’ll find you. That, I promise.” 

“What if I can’t find you. Or … you stop wanting to find me … or you … start forgetting me.” My nose was congested, so I breathed harshly against Jon’s face through my mouth, Jon’s face that was only inches away from mine. He didn’t seem to mind at all. “Sansa said with time you’d forget us, all of us. And us —you. She said you’ll have a new family at Starfall. She said they’ll replace us.” 

“And do you actually believe any of that, little sister? Truly?” 

I shook my head. “No,” I said softly. 

“Good, because neither do I. Sounds rather stupid, doesn’t it?” I smiled, which in turn made him smile. He planted another kiss on my face, this time on my forehead. He brought his hand over my head, and slipped his fingers through my very tangled hair. 

“I don’t think I could ever replace you.” I said.

“No,” he said. “And I could never forget you.” 

Jon gently untangled his fingers from my hair, giggling lightly in the process. I turned red with embarrassment. When he was free, he stood beside the bed, and pulled the covers over my neck as Nymeria stirred beside me. “Try and sleep. The faster you heal, the faster we could go out and play, we can even take out the horses riding.” 

“The horses?! Really?!” 

“Really.” He said with a sad smile, as he made his way out of my vast estate room. Ghost jogged quickly behind Jon, moving in hops. When Jon reached the door, he switched off the light, I watched as his long graceful fingers moved against the wall. “Goodnight, little sister.” He said sweetly, before disappearing into the dimly-lit halls. 

I went to sleep that day with my heart becoming animated, beating harder than I’ve ever felt it beat before. I didn’t think anything of it. I snuggled closer to Nymeria, feeling her warmth, and letting her earthy smell engulf my nostrils. Jon Snow’s words, “I could never forget you,” played inside my head, over and over again, until I fell asleep. Still, in my dreams his words played like a vivid picture. 

… 

“Who sent you?” I shouted. I needed confirmation, I needed to hear his name. “Say his name.” 

“Jon Snow.”

His name sounded sweet in my ears. I exhaled lightly. 

“Arry? They’re friendlies?” I ignored Hot Pie as I kept my gun pointed. 

“Will you take us to him? Will you take us to my brother?” My voice shook and the men below my nodded enthusiastically their hands still up in the air. 

“Yes, of course! It’s why we’ve come all this way.” 

“And if you’re lying? If you mean to hurt us?” 

“He told us to tell you something,” the bulkier man states. “He told us to tell you, I could never forget you. Does that mean anything?” A tear rolled down my face without my permission.

“No.” I lied. 

“And … biters in the head, people in the heart.” 

_Fuck. _

“Yes, Hot Pie. I think they’re friendlies.” I mumbled. The men gave me a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach, but I figured if Jon sent them they were probably alright, if Jon sent them, and trusted them, then they were probably alright. Right? 

“You can come inside.” I said through gritted teeth. “Leave the guns on the ground where you left them or I’ll blow one between both your eyes.” Hot Pie sighed in relief beside me. The men introduced themselves. The skinny one was Karl, the bulkier one with the lovely voice was called Dareon. 

… 

The two men entered the house with their gear still on. They wore black boots, bulletproof vests, helmets, and hard black cargo pants. They smelled of campfire and blood. I did not try to summon Weasel away from her hiding spot for the men still left me with a queer feeling, the same suspicious feeling I had gotten over a month ago with the discovery of the forest house. 

I sat in front of the men, with my gun held tightly on my lap. I watched as they freed themselves from their gear, ever so slowly. They spoke of The Black Union. What they do there, how many people reside there, and how the physician Aemon is trying to find a cure. A cure. The men in Camouflage had already infiltrated the Capital, Winterfell, Starfall, The Vale, Riverrun, all looking for this said cure. These men who were so sure there was a vaccine already in the air, couldn’t have been wrong, not entirely. It was funny though, these organizations, The Black Union and The Men in Camouflage, had such differing tactics, though the same objective. 

Hot pie heated up some stew from cans for the men. They spoke of the cold outside, how long they had traveled to find me, and how they hadn’t eaten in a while, at least not properly. I asked about Jon Snow, and they told me everything I wanted to know. As they talked, I watched, with the corner of my eye, as Hot Pie tip-toed upstairs with an extra bowl in his hand, Weasel’s bowl. Dareon told me that Jon was commander. I tried so hard to suppress a smile at the news, quickly averting my attention from Hot Pie to the men. Jon was alive, he was truly alive. Alive and thriving. He had sent people for me, to find me. Not Bran, or Rickon, or Sansa … but me, only me. I wondered why. We were always close, but I wasn’t the girl he left behind, he must’ve known that. Would he still want this new girl? _This … killer_. 

It wasn’t until they spoke of the search parties that Jon sent to find me, that I started feeling ill again. Ill from their presence. They spoke of the men who’d gone, all their names. They spoke of the amount of lives lost. There was sadness in Dareon’s eyes and hardness in Karl’s. Hot Pie came to sit beside me a second later, clutching the shotgun with his left hand, and his bowl with his right. 

When I looked outside, it was already dark. I could hear the horses whinnying from outside, and the night winds crashing against the window, the winds sounded like ghosts. I thought of Gendry, Lommy, and Nymeria. I hoped, more than anything, that they were safe, that they would come back to me. I wanted so desperately for them to enter through the doors, for them to be safe, for us to all eat dinner together and have these men in black escort us home, to a better home, to Jon. But that seemed like a fairytale, a dream far off somewhere. 

“Where’s that wolf of yours?” I froze, my food almost completely untouched. Karl said it. He said it the second he finished off what was left on his bowl, or rather Gendry’s bowl. “Is the beast with the big guy? Or is she hidden upstairs with the little girl?” It was then that I knew I had made a terrible mistake letting these men in, that I made a terrible mistake not making them strip bare before allowing them access inside the cursed house. Their pistols were already out and pointed. Hot Pie dropped to the floor, his bowl falling beside him. 

“I yield!” Hot Pie shouted. 

My pistol was pointed at Karl’s heart, but Karl’s and Dareon’s were both pointed at my head. Karl’s gun went to Hot Pie’s bandaged temple. “Drop the gun she-wolf, or I’ll shoot your precious piggy.” Was this truly how I died? How we all died? How stupid. I knew the house was cursed. I knew it was cursed, but oh did I wish I was wrong. My thoughts go to Gendry. Beautiful Gendry, with his dark shaggy hair, and ocean blue eyes. And then there was hardworking Lommy, loud childlike Hot Pie, and little pure Weasel. And … Jon Snow. The memories of Jon Snow, my Jon Snow, flooded my head as I dropped the gun on the floor, got to my knees and yielded as well. I didn’t deserve nice things anyway … not anymore. Still, I could never completely yield. 

Before, I got to the dagger on my belt, Karl hit me in the temple with the end of his pistol. “Nymeria,” is all I thought to say before everything went black.

… 

The blue tint of the dawn shines through the windows. Karl and Dareon snore on the couch. I hear biters outside, at least two, growling in the congested breathless manner that they do. It’s only now that I’ve come to realize that Gendry and Lommy are in trouble, or are hurt somewhere. Perhaps there were more of these men, perhaps half of them hunted Gendry and Lommy, and the other half me, Hot Pie, and Weasel. These men, they didn’t just come to kill me, to kill us, they came for blood, to cause damage … to get revenge for the people they’d lost, the people they’d lost because of _ us _ , because of _ me _ . It was their right to bring the justice of the Gods on me, but Weasel? Weasel was only an innocent child. And it was also _ my _ right to bring the justice of the old Gods back onto them. 

I snarl subconsciously as I pierce the men with my stare. Karl grips his glock harshly between his pale fists, as his head leans back on the sofa stiffly. Dareon is slumped on the arm of the couch, his mouth open, and his glock loosely wrapped over his olive-tone hands. By his feet, I see my parrying dagger, under the sofa, it’s shining with the light from the Dawn. 

The blood from my forehead falls in droplets to the floor. Beyond the door, I hear another snarl, a hoarse growl, way more hoarse than mine has any business being. I hear foliage scattering, and this time the growling is so loud that it wakes Hot Pie. He looks around, and his eyes find mine. The boy’s big brown eyes open in surprise. A thump crashes against the house walls, and with that, the men in black come back to life as well. I cease to hear the biters anymore. Only an eerie silence, with not even the sounds of the winds in place. 

_ Nymeria_, I think, and suddenly, I don’t feel nearly as afraid as I did before. 

Karl stands from the couch, his face concerned and hard. He points his glock to the window, looking to it, and then to me. He looks skinnier all of a sudden, skinnier, and more wimpish. Dareon stands beside him, almost goofily, dropping his gun on the floor, and then stumbling to pick it up again, still half-asleep. 

“Who’s out there?” Karl asks no one in particular. He steps closer to the window, his hard boots making the floors creak. He pushes aside the blinds with his glock, looking this way and that, the daylight hitting his features and making him look uglier. 

“Is it Raff? Could they have found us already?” Dareon asks. 

“No,” Karl answers, “they would’ve done _ the knock_.” 

_ They_. I was right, there were more of them. For a second, I forget that I felt a little braver with Nymeria so close-by. From outside, I hear the horses whinnying, and their hooves crashing against the crunchy leaves rather aggressively, at least far more aggressively then they were when I heard the lurking chompies. Someone else was there, someone with a scent that the horses weren’t familiar with.

Karl’s slit for eyes fall on me. “Your little friends try anything, and I’ll make them watch while I fuck you limp and bloody.” He takes another look outside, before his eyes fall back to me. He steps towards me. “Then I’ll make you watch while I shoot them all dead. One by one.” I hear Hot Pie whimper, and behind Karl, I see Dareon walk around Weasel’s limp cold body to investigate outside all the windows in the living room area. 

“I thought you were saving me for Raff. You said he didn’t like his women so … _ spent_.”

My eyes bravely meet with Karl’s as he kneels down beside me, our eyes now leveled with one another’s. “I’m sure he can make an exception for me.” He strokes my face with a cold long finger, bringing a strand of knotted hair behind my ear. “You know I was disappointed when I first saw you. Your body was much too skinny, your face much too long, not _ too _ pretty, _ but _ …” His finger lands on my lips, and it takes everything in me not to bite it completely off. “Your looks are rather growing on me. There’s a certain _ charm _ to them …” 

All the events from the prior night come rushing into my head. It was my fault. _ My fault, my fault. _ I shouldn’t have yelled, I shouldn’t have shouted. I should’ve just let Karl do what he wanted to do to me. Hot Pie had pleaded for them to stop, his eyes were full of tears, his body shaking hysterically. Karl had pinned me down after they tied up Hot Pie, and I awoke from the hit on my temple. They couldn’t find Weasel in the attic, for the door to the attic blended neatly into the ceiling, an invisible door. They wouldn’t have found her if she didn’t leave, they wouldn’t have found her if she didn’t hear my screams and decide to come to my aid. They wouldn’t have found her if I hadn’t screamed. It’s my fault. They shot her in the stomach, her pistol tightly inside her fists. She died so bravely, she died for me … a bloody waste. 

This time I don’t say anything as the man strokes my cheeks and arms, and pinches at my t-shirt. I only look blankly at the door, at Dareon as he watches deeply into the distance. Karl follows my eyes and turns. His eyes land on his pal.

“You like him better?” 

I ignore him, as I gently attempt to untangle my wrists from the knot. From my left, I see Hot Pie crying again, like he was before. But this time, I look to him and throw him a single nod. “It’s alright, Hot Pie. We’re going to be fine.” The second I say it, I believe it, and a peace enters through me as the whinnying from the horses outside gets louder, Dareon’s eyes widen, and Karl grills me, his face confused and a little fearful. 

… 

_ From beyond the trees approaches a body. Tall, and big and muscled. It reeks of blood. Though the body’s movements are similar to those of the infected, the smell is different, fresh, alive, and familiar. It holds a weapon, and it’s eyes are cruel. The body approaches closer, walking slowly and with little energy, but still fully in attack-mode. I snarl at the body at first, but with one more whiff the familiarity of it all hits me, and I finally smell beyond his fear and wrath. _

_ “Nymeria. Come.” It says in a croak, and I follow. _

_ The body moves towards the house bravely, unbothered with triggering gunshots, or the sounds of the horses. Noise commences from the house, the house where my kin lie smelling of grief and fear. I follow the bloody human, as his shoulder shakes, and he mumbles words under his breath. Life wants to leave him, but he holds on. He’s strong. The noises inside the house become louder. It’s a human shout, and it rings loudly as the dark horses become frantic. _

_ When the man reaches the back door, the door opposite to the horses, and the commotion, he breathes out harshly, the frost causing smoke to come dancing out of his mouth. His eyes meet with mine, and I find I whine with the surge of comfort that they bring my body. He shuts his eyelids harshly before he positions his boot against the door. With one hard kick, the door slams open. The man grunts in pain, clutching his weapon by his side. Between hard breaths he says the words, “Nymeria. Kill.” And I obey. _

… 

Nymeria comes flying at Dareon like a gust of wind. He screams as he falls to his back, his gun going off once, the bullet missing the wolfdog and landing on the floor beside her instead. I watch as my eyes widen. Nymeria’s giant body moves so swiftly and energetically. She plants her paws on the man’s chest, and holds him down with her weight. Karl freezes next to me, he clings to my upper arm with a fierce grasp. I look into Nymeria’s golden eye from the side, and based on her posture, I know what’s about to come next. I look away when Nymeria bites into Dareon’s throat. “_NO!_” Karl screams wholeheartedly in my ear, but that’s nothing compared to Dareon’s scream. His scream is piercing and shrill, so loud and disturbing it completely blocks out Gendry’s footsteps. _ Gendry_. 

He approaches from the corner looking like a corpse. Alone. I feel my heart drop to my stomach. At the sight of him, with all color gone from his face, I know he’s minutes from going unconscious. “_Gendry_,” his name falls out of my mouth in a whisper. 

The assault rifle in Gendry’s hand is already pointed at Karl. Karl pulls me in front of him, positioning himself on his knees behind me. I feel the cold of the gun against my temple. Karl holds it there, and I do nothing, still distracted with the way Nymeria rips out the man with the lovely voice’s throat, and Weasel’s small dead body. Dareon’s screaming stops abruptly, and the sounds that fill my ears are now replaced with Hot Pie’s crying, and Nymeria’s growling and tearing. The wolfdog ravishes the man, her head jerking from side to side. She plays with Dareon’s bloody body like it’s a mere toy. 

The man’s bony hand tightens around my neck, while the other holds the gun up to my head. 

“You’re outnumbered.” Gendry says, as he side-eyes the two fresh corpses to his right. He makes a noise, his face scrunching up with anguish. Still, he stays focused, his rifle stays pointed, even though he’s shaking, awfully badly. Gendry … what have they done to you ...

“You’re good,” Karl says. “You lot really are good. Your reputation precedes you. Truly.” 

The thick dark blood from Dareon’s body spreads all over the floor, some of it immediately seeping into the floorboards. Nymeria averts her attention from Dareon to Karl. Both her and Gendry’s stares are hard and cruel. Nymeria’s as stiff as a statue. The sun shines on her golden eyes, and gray fur. It makes her beam like some majestic creature. She bares her bloody teeth, snarling angrily in the process, taking tiny step by tiny step. 

“Tell the wolf to stop or I’ll shoot her master.” 

Silence. No one says a word. Gendry’s eyes light up and for a second, I think he’ll tell Nymeria to stop, but it only takes me shooting him a look for him to keep his mouth shut. He trusts me, even though, right now, it’s pretty stupid to. Nymeria continues to approach slowly. The closer she gets, the more nervous I become, knowing that it’s up to me to act, to do something, anything. I do the only thing I can think of doing, I headbutt him, feeling so well how his nose meets with the back of my skull. The cracking sound sounds crisp against my eardrums. 

Karl screams, and Nymeria quickly takes the opportunity to bite into his right-hand. Karl’s gun falls to his left with a clack. Gendry rushes to pick up the pistol, dropping the rifle behind him. He kneels beside me. I smell his smell. _ Manly_, but this time more earthy, and harsh. The smell of blood is all over him. Gendry points his gun at Karl’s head and it’s only now that I can see the seriousness of his injury. He bleeds and shake vigorously. A heat radiates from his body. His injury already making him ill with fever. 

Gendry’s crystal blue eyes meet with my dull gray eyes. I close my eyes as I feel his breath close. When he fires the gun, I find I sigh. I feel relief at his presence, but no peace. The gunshot rings in my ear, and I feel a warm liquid spatter against my face. Through the back of my eyelids, I see colors. 

It’s not until my wrists are free, and Hot Pie is shouting for me to help Gendry that even bother to open my eyes. The scene before me unravels again, and again. _ Ugly_, is the only word that comes to mind. _ What an ugly world_. The smell of death infects the house. _ The house_. _ The cursed house_. 

Gendry lays on his back, my dagger loosely wrapped in between his fists. He mumbles something to himself. I can’t make anything out. I only shake him. His lips look purple, almost blue, and his pale skin is paler than I’ve ever seen it. I brush the strands of hair from his face. 

“_Sorry_,” he mumbles. I bite my bottom lip and listen closely. I check his pulse, and quickly begin investigating his injury. As best I could under the circumstances. “_Sorry, I left him … _” 

I begin to strip him from his jacket and shirt frantically, my bloody fingers shaking all throughout. 

“Is he gonna be okay, Arry?” Hot Pie asks. I don’t answer his question, only slide him my parrying dagger so he could free himself and help me. I need _ help_, more than I’ve ever needed it ever before.

“_Nymeria’s … paws … are ... dirty …_” 

It’s the last thing he says before he’s out cold. Without thinking, I strike him hard and true, directly in his cheek, but he hardly reacts. _ Inhale and exhale_. Tears start streaming down my face, again, without my permission. 

“_Arry … he’s okay, right? _” 

“Gendry _ please _ … _ Not you too_. ” It came out as a whisper. 

…


	6. Home

Jon

_ I dreamt of the wild girl again, the young woman with the large intense gray eyes, and long brown hair. She was drenched in blood, but under the dark red, her jumper was gray. Dry blood was smeared on her smooth bare legs. She was frantic at first. I could feel the panic in her heart. She screamed before shaking the body next to her. When it mumbled, she smiled and sighed. I felt my heart soften at once, a sigh exited from my mouth as I felt relief fill her. _

… 

I woke up to my room colder than usual. Though it was still Autumn, the Winter was approaching faster than I would have liked. Val slept beside me, but as usual, she was up and dressed before the grim daylight was upon us.

Winter was only a few weeks away, and the harvest was done. The people of the Black Union were perhaps more austere in the Winter. With the arrival of Stannis Baratheon and the Dragonstone folk, the Black Union’s population had increased from a measly six hundred, to two-thousand. With the resources Stannis Baratheon brought along, he more than made up for it. 

The establishment would be set for years to come, with or without a harvest. Medicine, grains, weapons, vehicles and even spirits, wine, and ale. And with them, they brought along their physician of Dragonstone. A young man named Pylos of no more than thirty-four. Surely, he had nowhere near the same amount of practice, experience, or intelligence as Aemon. _ Still_, his hand and knowledge would come as nothing short of a blessing to our respective research and medical units. 

I sit up from my bed and immediately feel an ache in my limbs and inside my chest. I feel Ghost’s fur tickle my right ankle when my feet are planted on the cold tile floor. The gray late-morning light peaks from the cracks in the blinds. I rub my eyes as a way to shake off the prior night’s odd drunken dreams. _ Were they only dreams? _ Ghost sits up beside me, sunlight hitting his red eyes, as he begins to stretch a second after I do. I stand quickly, feeling the ache of my bones from the final days of the harvest, and feeling my head pound from the drinks Val and I had had the night prior. Strangely, it was _ her _ idea.

She entered my room with a tall bottle of wine and two ceramic mugs. She wore a suggestive smirk on her face, a smirk so contagious I had no choice but to smile. She entered my room. She hadn’t had her uniform on anymore, instead just a white tight sleeveless shirt, and dark sweatpants. Her usual golden braid was undone, so her yellow hair fell down her back in soft waves. 

“Happy end of Harvest!” She said perkily, as perkily as her voice _ could _ get. “A drink to celebrate, commander?” She suggested. 

“Gods know the end of the harvest is the worst part. Cleaning those combines-”

“-_ Jon _ …” She said softly cutting me off mid-sentence. “_Drink with me_.” She said. It almost sounded like a command, knowing Val, perhaps it was. I abided, and watched as she entered my room, and closed the door behind her with an elbow. I was in nothing but my sleeping pants, and my hair was still damp from my shower, as was Val’s. She stepped towards the bed, her hips swaying gently. I noticed as the tightness of her shirt accentuated her full chest. I looked away, feasting my eyes on her rosy cheeks instead. She sat rigidly on the bed, as she yanked the bottle’s cork off with her back teeth, while tossing a cup my way. I caught it. 

We hadn’t begun to talk until _ after _ the second serving. And at first it was rather mundane, almost formal. She spoke about the newcomers, how they were coming along, how they liked it. Training them to do daily tasks was a hassle, but the extra hands were appreciated, and meant less labor for everyone. The Winter will be an easy one, one where the people of the establishment can rest, and try not to go mad with Cabin Fever. Val also spoke about how the addition of Stannis’s people did little to even out the boy-to-girl ratio. The girls were still so sparse. Val estimated the numbers and concluded that there were about three-hundred women, and seventeen-hundred men. For that reason, Val had guards stationed in all the girls’ respective rooms at night. Val had trouble trusting, especially newcomers, and especially the_ men_. 

After, we spoke of Shireen. I hadn’t paid her a visit since our first meeting and thought I should. Val said she had, but of course, only behind the glass of Shireen’s chambers in the research unit. Val said Shireen was sweet and warm but that there was nothing to suggest that the girl wasn’t indeed sick. She breathed heavily, Val said, even if she could still eat, talk, and overall function like a non-infected. Pylos insisted she wasn’t sick, although she was bitten almost two-years prior. Surely, after two-years that meant she was immune in _some_ way. Even _ Bella _ had only lasted a couple of weeks after being bitten. Even Val had to admit there was something special within the young girl. 

“She’s taking it well,” Val said as she took another drag of the mug. “Being confined like that. She’s a good girl. You should see her. Surely, she gets lonely all alone up there with no one but Pylos, Samwell, and Aemon. Even her own mother hardly sees her.” Val frowned, and then proceeded to empty her cup. 

After the third serving of wine, I found I felt in better spirits already. I could tell Val did as well, by the way she kicked off her boots to scoot on close to me on the bed. She began to speak on behalf of Selyse, Stannis’s dear wife. She spoke of her cold aura, and her dark wispy mustache. Val began to giggle, almost sinisterly, as I shook my head in disapproval. I wouldn’t have laughed if the room wasn’t already spinning. 

It wasn’t much later that my lieutenant planted her palm on my thigh and stared directly at me. Her blue-gray eyes softening when they met my eyes. She frowned. Whatever she was about to say, I was already sure I did not want to hear it. 

“I don’t want to lie to you or keep pushing it aside-”

“_-Val, please_.” 

“I don’t think they’re coming back. It’s been a month and a half. And Winter is upon us.” She grabbed my hand and shifted to face me, her mug tightly placed in between her thighs. “You know how unbearable conditions are in the Winter. _ And _. I’m sorry about your cousin … but we’ll try again in the Spring. I promise I won’t fight it then. Just promise me you’ll wait until Spring.”

And there it was. I suppose I wasn’t as good at hiding my true intentions as I would have liked. I was going to search for Arya, all the dreams, all the anticipation was eating me alive. I couldn’t wait until Spring, couldn’t sit idly by as imcompentent men did a job only I could do right and sufficient. Not anymore. It was wrong to let others do the dirty work. Melisandre had been speaking to me, persuading me, almost energizing me. I won’t say I did not understand why many whispered she was a _ witch of the fire _ . That I did not doubt, but her words were always what I wanted to hear, so despite my better judgement I listened, _ always _ listened. 

She was going to help me. Fifty of Stannis’s men were to accompany me. Stannis had permitted it under Melisandre’s own persuasion. It was a secret plan, one that was to take effect in just a day’s time. I thought I had been discreet enough, but it seemed as if nothing got past Val. I knew if I told her the truth she’d try to put an end to it all. I grabbed her mug and placed it on the nightstand that lied to the right of the bed. Next, my hands were on her face. Her eyes searched inside of mine for an answer, a _true_ answer, but I hid my intentions as best I could. Val would forgive me, she always had. 

“_I promise_.” 

Before I knew it, her lips were on mine, and my cup and all it’s content had fallen to the floor with a _ splat_. Val’s lips were soft, and her hands were rough but elegant, pretty but strong. She ran her fingers through my hair as her tongue danced with mine. She sat on my lap as she slowly and seductively grinded back and forth, and back and forth. Her hands moved around my chest, grabbing the hem of my shirt and pulling it off with one aggressive motion. Then her hands were moving to her own shirt. I watched as she began to undress. 

With her milky skin, piercing Winter eyes, large pink breasts, and long golden strands falling down to her waist, she glowed like some goddess. She could make _any_ other man bend to her will. It wasn’t a secret that all the men of the Black Union desired her, even more so than they did the Red Woman. Women were already so sparse and Val was one of the most beautiful women any of these men had ever seen. I was aware of how _the_ _other men_ had watched her, and talked about her amongst each other. I found it didn’t make me jealous or possessive in the slightest, though the vulgarness spoken from man to man _could_ make me feel angry. 

Val’s hands went to my pants. She relieved me from her weight as she pulled them down, her eyes focused on my body. I watched her as she did, biting her plump bottom lip all throughout. I sighed in utter embarrassment. I knew she wasn’t going to find what she wanted, but I didn't have enough strength to stop her. 

“_I’m sorry_.” I said before she could say anything. She only shook her head and continued to remove my pants, _ all _ the way off. She threw them off to the side and began to lower herself. I could feel her breasts as they briefly scraped the lower half of my stomach, and then my cock. I shuddered as she descended, planting her hands at the tops of my thighs and smiling lightly, almost mischievous-like. Suddenly, I was inside her mouth. I threw my head back on the bed frame, and under my eyelids, the room spun, and stars exploded in a background of black.

My thoughts went to the young woman from my dreams, the girl I convinced myself I didn’t know. It was almost as if I could watch her as she slept now. She slept on her side in a thin white undershirt. Her legs were slim but long compared to the rest of her body. Her arms were bruised, as was the side of her face. Her brown hair was short now, _ and _ messier, it fell down to the end of her neck unevenly. She breathed lightly as she slept. A sweet noise had spilled out her lips as she shifted. I was unsure whether the voice came from Val or from the vivid pictures inside my head. 

I didn’t open my eyes to find out. A groan left my throat, but after a few seconds of immense pleasure came guilt and confusion. 

When I opened my eyes, I found I was heaving and still stiff. Val spat into a handkerchief of sorts. She wiped the side of her lips and smiled. She looked at me and then down. “_Ah_,” she said, “_that’s better_.” When the goddess mounted me, I didn’t feast on her beauty, but rather found myself closing my eyes again. 

… 

I enter the research unit in gear, ready to leave after this last stop. I wear the strap of an M4 over my shoulder, and a pistol over my belt. Adrenaline fills my bones. Ghost walks beside me, looking large and more ferocious than ever. I could tell he wants to get going just as much as I do. I know he could smell what I wish I could smell in my human form. I feel almost _ airy _ when the apprentices of the unit greet me with “_Commander_.” They’re all young plain lads in black scrubs, and amongst them is one tall girl in spectacles. She greets me as well. 

The floors are clean and they squeak with every step I take forward. I hear the young apprentices speaking amongst each other, they seem to be in good spirits, _ at ease_. Beyond the hall, I find myself stare off into the unit’s glass window, the one by the stairway. Outside the day is setting to night, and the world glows with a blue-gray light. 

I step forward examining all the doors, Ghost walking beside me. _ 246 _ … _ 248 _ … _ 250 _. At once, I stop. It’s the biggest room in the floor. There’s a thick window to the right of the door. The black curtains are half-open, and beyond I can see inside the room. It glows with a white fluorescent light. There’s a worn-out couch on the right side of the room, and a mess of books scattered upon it. Shireen sits at the center of her hospital bed with her legs folded. The colorful wires connected to the heart monitor to her left, are coming out of her shirt. She concentrates deeply on the book on her lap, not noticing anything around her. 

I knock on the glass once, and watch as her head jerks up enthusiastically. The scarred half of her face looks almost worse than it did the first time we met. Perhaps Val was right, perhaps the girl was seconds from turning, perhaps it was right to keep her locked inside a room like a prisoner. A prisoner being utilized like a lab rat in her final moments. A pang of guilt runs through me before I manage a wave. She waves back, smiling away shyly. Her blue eyes glow, and her long black hair hugs the top half of her body like a dark cape. 

I point at the door. “Can I come in?” I ask slowly, making sure she could make out my words through my lips. She smiles and nods. As I unlock the door with my master key, a key that only Val, Aemon, and now Stannis possess a copy of. I push the door open gently. “_Ghost_. _ Stay_.” I say as I enter the room. The beeping of the machine gets louder, but the commotion from the halls begin to blur at once. Ghost obeys and watches me impatiently. “Hello, Shireen,” I say under the door’s squeak. I close the door behind me as I watch the young woman bring a thick strand of black hair over right ear, almost as a way to accentuate the _ normal _ side of her face. She closes her book and sits up attentively. 

“Hello, commander,” she says, her voice shaking. Shireen‘s eyes avert up and down, unable to keep straight contact with mine for longer than a couple of seconds. “Have I … _ done _ something? Is it my father? Has he gone?” She fumbles with her dark t-shirt, wrinkling it with her fingers. She chews her bottom lip nervously, almost in the way Arya used to when she was little, I wonder if she still did that now. 

“_Done _ something? What could you have done?” I ask as I make my way to the book-infested couch. My boots make the tiles squeak as I walk.

Shireen only shrugs at my question bashfully, her cheek turning red as she faces down to her lap. When I reach the couch, I fumble with the books, pushing them to the side carefully, making just enough room to sit. I pick up one book before I plop onto the dark gray sofa. I see it’s title, “_ A Dance of Dragons_,” before placing it on my lap.

“And _ gone_? He wouldn’t leave without you.” 

“He has … _ before _ … But that’s alright ... he _ always _ comes back. _ Always_.” 

It was clear to anyone with half a brain that Stannis Baratheon was attempting at taking over all of Westeros. He already held Dragonstone, and Storm’s End. He meant to sit himself in the Capital after the death of Robert Baratheon, and the delegitimization of his nephews and niece, who apparently didn’t have his blood after all. Of course things hadn’t gone according to plan for him, and he found his claim was obliterated when the Men in Camouflage infiltrated. 

I suppose that after a few years, and many losses, it had occurred to him that the only way to win was by saving The New World and then claiming his crown after, and only after. The Camo Men weren’t so interested in a cure as they were in taking down those who had had it and kept it locked away. 

The Black Union did not participate in politics, or any other triviality, or we liked to claim. Here we weren’t royals, or the descendants of royals, not anymore. Here we had three objectives: _ education_, _ survival_, and a _ cure_. If Stannis was going to help us do that then it was in everyone’s best interest to extend a hand to him as well. He can have his _ titles_, and his _ God-given rights _ … what did that matter to us? 

I look down at the book on my lap as Shireen shifts in her hospital bed. I feel her eyes on me. I find that the room is uncomfortably silent, and that I, once again have gotten deeply lost in my own thoughts. 

“Have you read this already?” I ask bringing up the book to my face. 

She nods enthusiastically, shifting her body slightly to meet my eyes. “I’ve only three left on the sofa that I’m to read. Samwell said he’d bring more when I finish … so I’m trying to finish.” I study the girl’s face, and find that besides her father’s coloring, she takes a lot of her mother’s appearance to her own detriment. Her mannerisms, and gentle voice, make her seem younger than she is. According to Val, she’s already a young woman, nearly the same age Arya would be now. 

“But that one there is one of my favorites. It’s about the civil war, the Targaryen civil war. It was before the outbreak, _ way _ before. And they were fighting, and bombing one another. Brother against brother. All for a claim … a silly claim.” Shireen looks down at her lap, her passionate voice falling at once. She swallows and I watch as she plants a hand on her chest, her breath becoming shorter suddenly. “But that’s only a simplification … It’s more complicated than I let on … at least that’s what everyone tells me.” 

“Are you alright, Shireen?” I throw the book down, amongst the other pile of books to my left, and extend a hand towards her. 

“Yes,” she says as she gestures my hand away. “It happens,” she says with a shy smile. Her hand goes to her temple, almost as a way to steady herself. She sighs deeply. She looks in pain, like she’s seconds from vomiting, but I pretend I don’t notice. I only smile back. 

“If you need anything … to get some fresh air, to stretch your legs, to the see the Autumn snows, a better supper … _ anything _ at all, let Samwell know. He’ll help you, I’ve made sure of it.” 

Shireen’s face goes scarlet at my comment. I watch as her squared jaw tenses, and she gulps deeply. She doesn’t say anything for a while, only nods, her eyes protruding out in concentration. I stand, feeling the heaviness of my gear again, and all at once. I walk towards Shireen, while she’s still frozen in place, and go for her right hand. I lift her large soft hands to my lips, and plant a light kiss. “Thank you for all your help here, Shireen. We’re all very grateful.” I give her hand one last squeeze before nodding, and walking away. I see Ghost through the glass, watching me carefully with those deep red eyes of his. 

“Commander.” She finally says, and I turn to look at her. “You’re right to look for her … she’s your family. Some are saying you’re acting out of your own self-interest … _ but _ … what’s the point of surviving _ if _ … _ even _ commanders need love, need their families.” Shireen holds onto her chest. “Don’t let them turn your life into … _ a simplification_.” She turns scarlet again, her eyes move down again, down to her lap. 

I find that I’m smiling, but this time, unlike last time, it’s effortless. “_When _I bring her home ... I know she’ll really like you, Shireen.” She begins to play with her long hair, a timid smile creeping up on her face. “I’ll leave you to your books,” I say before I turn to leave. Hope fills my heart, as I exit the beeping room. I close and lock the door behind me, waving at the girl one last time through the glass. She waves back.

I walk down the hall, watching as the outside world through the glass beyond glows with an indigo light. “Ghost.” I say and the beast runs to my side, as energized as me. For a second it feels like I’m Ghost, like I could smell sharper, the world goes from indigo to gray. My eyes go to the full moon on the other side, on the outside. And then it’s like suddenly, I can’t feel my fingertips or my feet. Only _ paws_, only _ warmth_, and _ wild_.

  
  


Gendry 

I watch Arya as she sleeps, wrapped cozy inside two layers of blankets, with Nymeria snoring at the foot of the bed. Arya’s short hair scatters all over her red face. Judging by the shortness of her breath, her flushed cheeks, and how she’s shivering, it's obvious that she has a fever. All the physical labor she put her body through had clearly taken its toll on her. The house is quiet, quieter than usual, _ of course_. I can hear Hot Pie preparing food from downstairs, and Arya’s and Nymeria’s light snores clashing. It had been nearly an entire day since they fell asleep, and I thought it was only time I should wake them. 

Arya was wasting away, her face looked gaunt, and her collarbones were jutting out like they wanted to break through her skin. Since _ the incident_, since the deaths of Lommy and Weasel, Arya hasn’t been herself. She’s been quiet, distant, reserved, doing all the things none of us truly wanted to do. She dug the graves, and exterminated all the lurking biters who were lured in by the commotion. Nymeria was always beside her, helping her. It seemed as of lately their souls had completely emerged. 

Arya burned the bodies of the men in black, and dug a grave for Weasel. She wanted to retrieve Lommy’s body but I didn’t want her going off alone … and it’s not like it mattered … _ he was dead anyway_. Whatever remained of his rotting body, it didn’t matter, Lommy wasn't there anymore. I imagine his lanky body laying lonely on the foliage, his skin blue, and his lips purple. _ All alone_. _ Gone_. _ Now_, just food for roaming chompies or for the wolves that lurked the wolfswood at night. 

“_Arya_.” She doesn’t hear me the first time I call out to her. I step closer, feeling the ache of my shoulder. A sharp pain runs from my shoulder up to the side of my neck. I groan, as I put my hand over my wrapped shoulder. She did that too, wrapped me up, _ healed me_, as best she could. I move forward towards the end of the bed and watch as she stirs. The oil lantern on the table shines dimly. It’s already completely dark outside. When I reach the foot of the bed, another pang of pain moves through my shoulder and up my neck. I sit on the corner of the bed, suddenly feeling as the room spins. That was a normal occurrence as of lately. 

I _ knew _ I got lucky. The bullet that hit me didn’t knick an artery, or leave any shrapnel inside of me. I could’ve completely lost movement in my arm. It was sheer luck. In the capitol there had been a soldier who was shot in the shoulder, and the poor bloke had bled out within minutes. He was young, younger than Arya. There wasn’t much anyone could do for him. And even though Arya stitched me up as best she could, she wasn’t the best with a needle and thread, better than any of _us_, _ of course_, as she grew up in her estate with physicians, medics, and wet nurses, _ but still_, not so good. I might’ve avoided losing my arm, and bleeding to death, but infection was still very much a possibility. 

“Arya,” I say again, this time louder. It takes more energy than I wish to exert. Nymeria’s golden eyes open at once and stare into me. A second later, Arya’s eyes open, wide and full of panic. “You’ve been asleep for an entire day,” my breath sounds short, and I find I see stars floating around me as I talk. “You’ve got to eat, you look absolutely dreadful. _ A horror to behold_.” Arya’s eyes relax as they land on me, she rubs her red face, as Nymeria shifts to face her and nudge her. There are still pieces of hair scattered around her face, from when I found her sitting on the floor with dull scissors in her hand. 

It was before she had gotten to sleep. I was about to stop her until I saw that the scissors were cutting away at her hair rather than her flesh. I felt stupid for thinking such a thing. But then, right then and there, I saw Arya fall apart in a way I’d never seen before. She quipped at her hair with jagged angry cuts, chunks of dark brown falling to the floor in an airy manner. Then the scissors fell to the floor with a _ clack_, and she sat with her knobby knees pulled in, holding herself, her face covered over her folded arms. And she cried. So intensely, that I had to flee, and pretend I never saw a thing. 

She sits up slowly, and Nymeria jumps off the bed, her tail wagging as she waits for her master to lead her to supper. A yawn escapes Arya’s lips as she rubs her eyes and begins to stretch. Her expression is stoic, and her movements are agonizingly slow, even slower than my own. 

“I told Hot Pie to cook up the canned beef stew. Since it’s your favorite.” 

“It’s not.” She says bluntly as she stands. She wore her pants to bed this time, and attached to her belt is her parrying dagger in its wolf sheath, the one she’d always keep close but almost never used. I watch as she sluggishly grabs the gray sweater next to the oil lantern and pulls it on, Nymeria closely following her to the other side of the room. The large sweater falls down to the center of her thighs. She shivers before her eyes slowly scan me, and then align with mine. “_How is it? Your shoulder_.” I must look worse than I’m letting on because concern consumes her red face.

“It feels better,” I say. She steps towards me, our eyes almost leveled. Her short choppy hair falls down to the top of her neck, and her messy strands stick to her face. I find my heart begins to beat. I become light-headed as my tender wound aches. 

“_You’re lying_. Let me see.” She demands.

“No.” I say stubbornly, holding a hand out. 

“Let me see it now!” She shouts it so loud that I hear Hot Pie drop a pot from the kitchen in response. Nymeria growls at no one in particular, almost like she could feel anger too, just as Arya feels it. 

I freeze, startled by her burst of impatience, not that Arya’s known for her great patience, but something about her tone tells me this isn’t the time to be stubborn, as much as my bones twist with insistence.

I scowl and let her investigate. Arya hops on the bed on her knees, and crawls up behind me. Nymeria stares up at me from the floor, her tail stiff, and her golden eyes concentrated. Arya runs her cold finger down the tender part of my neck, trailing down slowly. I close my eyes as her touch sends vibrations through my body. “_That’s not good_,” she says, before placing her hands on the base of my shirt, and slowly pulling it off, being extra careful with my left side. She pulls the black shirt off from my right arm first, then my over my head, and it slides off my left-arm. The room’s chill pricks at my warm skin. 

She pokes at my tender flesh and the pain is so sharp that I find myself jump. “Fuck’s sake!” 

“_Sorry_,” she spits back rudely. 

I feel her fingers begin to clumsily fumble with the linen. She undoes the knot and begins to unwrap my shoulder. Her right-hand feels gentle and warm planted on the back of my neck. 

“_Oh gods_.” She mumbles to herself before quickly beginning to wrap the linens over my shoulder again. 

“What?” I ask, but she doesn’t slow down or bother to answer. I turn my head slightly, and catch a sight of her from the side of my eye. Her attention is pointing down to my shoulder. “_Arya? What? _” I ask and it comes out a croak. She ties the linen up tightly. And I flinch. 

“_Sorry_,” Arya says, this time way more gentle. She slides off the bed, and hops down. She stands in front of me, our eyes almost completely leveled again. She steps towards me, and sets herself in the space between my legs. The golden half-heart necklace around her neck glimmers after her eyes. She plants her left-hand on my forehead, and then plants the back of her palms on my cheeks. I shiver. “I think you have a fever.” 

“I think you have one too.” I answer, almost out of breath. 

She turns her palm so that her hand rests on my right cheek. She suddenly begins to caresses my skin with their thumb. Her genuine touch after all these days feels odd, almost foreign. But it’s her watery gray eyes staring into my face that makes me uneasy. With the pounding of my chest, comes immense sorrow, sorrow for her. I grab her hand as my eyes shoot up to meet hers, this time directly.

“I’m sorry, Arya,” I say and as soon as I do a tear runs down her face. She goes to wipe it away harshly with her right hand without taking her eyes away from mine. “In a way we’re _ lucky _ … we’re lucky that-” Arya yanks her hand away from me and furrows her brow before she backs away at once. 

“_Come get your stews! _” Hot Pie bellows from downstairs. 

Arya picks up my shirt from the floor and tosses it at me. “I didn’t mean-”

“-it’s fine. Come eat. There’s something I need to tell you ...” 

“What is it?” I ask but she ignores me. “_Arya_?” She turns to walk away, Nymeria following her closely. Arya’s movements are sluggish. Her long legs becoming much too thin for her jeans, and the shortness of her hair just makes it look messier than usual. The floorboards creak as she leaves from my view. I pull on my shirt agonizingly slowly. I think about what it is that Arya means to tell me. I think I know what it is, and the thought of leaving this house after everything we’ve overcome, it fills me with rage, rage I’m trying hard so hard to repress, for _ her_, for _ us_. 

… 

It’s the first time we’re eating at the table in the kitchen together, because it’s only now that we all fit. It’s a small foldable round table that wobbles with any minor contact. The stew is good and salty, and the meat melts in my mouth in a way that meat shouldn’t. Still, it’s more than fine. Hot Pie slurps at his stew, from the sounds of it, he’s almost done. Like Arya, he’s looking thinner as well. His cheeks aren’t sunken by any means, just less plump. His dark yellow hair almost falls down to his shoulders, it’s tangled and greasy, and longer than Arya’s. Arya sits silently, deep in thought, staring down at her stew and occasionally taking a bite or two. 

Hot Pie’s scar had almost completely healed, but he still wore the linens over his head for the sake of being overly dramatic. “_Leave it! It still hurts! _” He had told Arya just a couple days prior. Nymeria slurps at a bowl her master laid out for her, and outside the wind howls like a ghost. 

Hot Pie wipes his mouth clean with his burgundy sleeve. His big brown eyes move from Arya and then to me before quickly looking away. Hot Pie wasn’t talking much either lately, but it was still a great deal more than the rest of us. 

“Arry, you should eat.” Hot Pie says concerned. He pats his fat hand over Arya’s hand in what’s probably supposed to be a gesture of comfort.

“Don’t call her Arry.” I snap at him. Maybe it was my injury making me so angry. 

Hot Pie quickly removes his hand and averts his eyes downward. 

“Leave him be.” Arya butts in. She’s always loved to defend people who would never defend her back, sometimes it could make my blood boil.

“Stop defending him.” 

“He’s not hurting anyone.” Arya retorts. “I don’t care what he calls me.” 

“You seemed to care a lot before,” I mumble. 

“I said it’s fine!” Arya snaps and Nymeria begins to growl again. It’s almost eerie. The shout makes the horses parked in the house’s garage bray. Arya’s eyes suddenly avert towards the direction of the horses and at once, I almost know what’s coming. She turns and gulps, mine and Hot Pie’s eyes glue onto her. Nymeria’s growl turns into a whine instantly. “_ I-,_” she begins. 

“_Arya, __don’t_.” 

“I need to go North to my brother. I need to go to The Black Union.” 

I shake my head. I knew it was coming, I knew she wouldn’t let that go. My fist slams against the table on its own accord. Hot Pie and Arya jump in their seats startled. A pang of pain seeps up through my shoulder, making me feel almost numb. I ignore it. 

“_That _ place? The place where the men inside are a bunch of crooks, killers, and rapists, Arya? _ That _ place? Where the men killed Lommy and Weasel, a child, in cold-blood without a second thought? _ What is wrong with you_? Have you gone mad with grief?” Moments ago, the air was cold but not it feels hot. I find my wrath increasing by the second. I try to pull it back, but it feels stronger than me. 

Arya’s eyes fill with tears again, but as always, she remains as brave and stubborn as she is full of sorrow. “They can’t _ all _ be that way,” Arya protests. “If _ Jon _ is commander … _ it was a misunderstanding_, I know it was! Besides, we can’t stay here and wait out the entire winter!”

“Why not?” 

“Your wound is infected, can’t you feel it? _We need medicine!_ _Real_ medicine. _And the smell! _It’s driving me mad. I can still smell the blood and the bodies. And the biters! There have been at least two a day wandering around the area since-since-”

“_-since your dear brother sent a squad to come rape and kill you_.” 

I don’t have time to react or deflect her blow. Arya stood from her chair, and was upon me like a shadow. She slaps me, squarely in the face. Her bony hand makes my cheek sting, and does nothing to lessen my rage. 

“Arry!” Hot Pie shouts in surprise. 

“Don’t talk about my brother again.” She says seriously. “I’m going,” she says. “Do what you’d like, Gendry, but you’re not-” 

“_-I’m not your royal brother, or your royal dad, or your royal family_. So fuck _ us_, right?” 

Arya throws me a face. She shakes her head as anger consumes her. “_You’re so_ … _bloody ..._ _stupid_!” She stomps off, leaving her bowl almost completely full on the table. Something about the bowl enrages me. As I hear Arya stomping up the stairs, I pick up the bowl and slam it against the wall to my left. Hot Pie shrieks, and Arya ignores it, the sounds of her and Nymeria’s footsteps moving towards her room. She slams her room door hard. I stare at the pieces of broken ceramic, and the brown stew dripping down the paint-peeling wall. It all looks foggy for a second.

“_Fuck_,” I mumble. 

“_Gendry_?” Hot Pie asks, as he stands beside me. I don’t know how he’s beside me all of a sudden, but he is. “_Gendry_?”

I stand attempt to stand, so I can tower him, and intimidate him. I want him to stop saying my name in that way … _ like he’s actually worried … like he actually cares … _ I plant my good hand on his shoulder when I feel my body failing me. “_Gendry_!”

I crash to the floor on my back. “_Don’t call me that_,” I find myself saying before I go out cold. 

… 

I wake up to Arya staring down at me. Outside, it’s still dark. I’m in the living room, and it’s being lit by an oil-lantern. I hear snoring, and find Hot Pie sleeping at the other end of the couch. Arya’s in her undershirt, it clings to her curves, and makes her look more womanly. The necklace around her neck shines like it did earlier. A bead of sweat forms at the side of her forehead. 

“I changed your linens. And dumped more alcohol on the wound. Can you feel the sting?” 

I nod as I watch her closely.

“_Good_,” she says rudely, a little smile forming on her lips. “Can I … lay down with you?” She asks looking at the slight empty space to my right. I nod again, unable to say anything. The shame from the things I said before making me feel like complete shite. She carefully crawls over me on the sofa to get to the other side. She kicks Hot Pie’s leg away before plopping down beside me on her side.

“_Gendry_,” she says. Our faces are inches from one another’s. I could see the exhaustion in her eyes. Her cheeks are still red, and I feel the heat coming from her body. She’s sweating. “You’ve worried Hot Pie.” 

“Did I, really?”

She nods. “He … doesn’t want to stay here either.” 

I sigh. “How’d you convince him to want to leave all those cans of stew behind?” 

“I didn’t have to. He saw your wound. And he says he’s been seeing ghosts.” 

I grin. “_Pathetic_.” 

“I don’t think so,” Arya retorts. “I don’t see them but I feel them. Ever since we first stepped into this house.” Arya’s voice becomes lower, her lip quivers. “And it can’t all just be for nothing.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“They can’t have died for nothing.” 

“Arya, things happen for nothing all the time.” 

“I don’t believe that.” She wipes her tears before they can stream down her face. “I want to go home, Gendry.”

“Home?” I ask.

Arya nods. 

“_What’s_ _home_? _Your estate_? _The capital?_ _The Riverlands_?”

“Home is you … _ alive_, and Hot Pie … and …” her voice trembles, “_my brother_.” 

“Is there anything I can say to change your mind?” I ask while Hot Pie snores away loudly.

“I’m afraid not.” She grabs my hand and rubs her thumb over it. 

“_Fine_,” I say. “We’ll go.” 

Arya smiles sadly. Tears fill her eyes again as she grabs my face and plants a kiss on my lips. When she pulls away she looks shy and embarrassed. Her fingers go to her lips. She looks as if she’s in deep thought when her entire face turns redder.

“Arya,” I say, “K_iss me again._” 


	7. Ghost

Arya

_ That scent it’s all too familiar, but the sounds around me are not. The world fills with darkness, but I can make everything out as the full moon glows in the sky. So close. It feels so close, smells so close. I hear the chatter of people, and sounds of roaring vehicles dwindling as I step deeper and deeper into the snow-coated trees. Light flurries fall from the sky airily. I chase the smell, my pace quickening, the frosty air hitting my face. _

“_Arya_?”

… 

I wake up with my heart beating through my layers. From outside the opened cave I can see the moon, and the smoke from the campfire drifting upwards towards the night sky. Snow falls in a gentle manner. I look to my left to see Hot Pie, and Gendry sleeping tightly in their respective sleeping bags, Gendry shivering profusely. And to my right, the horses. Two of them, the one I rode, and the one Hot Pie rode, stand silently asleep. The other, Gendry’s, lays on his side peacefully. We hadn’t named any of them for surely they already had their own names. Still, Hot Pie called his “Pony,” though the horse obviously did not answer to it, nor to him. 

The last week and a half on the road had been straight out of a nightmare. Gendry was getting worse and worse. After the first week, he kept nearly falling off his horse. And Hot Pie, Hot Pie was a terrible rider that had to be chased down more often than I would have liked. We hadn’t been making good time at all, and Winter was days away. Yesterday night Gendry had finally fallen off his horse. It took the three of us, me, Hot Pie, and Nymeria to drag him someplace safe. And just like that, over a snowy foliage-covered hill the cave shined gray like shiny silver. 

I wondered whether the cave was safe enough for me to continue forward on my own, and leave Gendry and Hot Pie behind as I went for help. But I knew Gendry wouldn’t let me. I checked his wound again, and this time it was hot, the skin around his shoulder looked almost purple and veined. Fluids leaked from his skin. It was yellow and thick, and oozed out like blood. I shuddered as I wrapped him up once more. 

If Gendry was anyone else, he’d be dead, or ready to completely give up. But he kept and keeps holding on still. He’s stronger than most men, and I have to believe he’ll make it, for my own peace of mind, for my own sanity. 

… 

The night’s frost pierces my skin through my sleeping bag. I knew Hot Pie and Gendry must feel worse considering they had never truly experienced the cold as I had. But we’re properly geared and dressed, and in so many layers that our respective coats had hardly fit over everything. I brought along _ most _ of our guns, leaving the sniper, and a couple of pistols behind. Hot Pie was armed with the shotgun. Gendry was in no position to carry his hunting rifle, so I carried it, along with the assault rifle the men in black brought along. As well as my pistol, and my parrying dagger; the weapons Jon had armed me with when I was twelve. When I was a mere child. 

_ Jon_. My thoughts keep returning to Jon. Jon is alive and he’s searching for _ me_. He hadn’t forgotten me at all. I feel a flutter in the pit of my stomach at the thought. The sensation feels familiar, a lot like I’ve felt before, when I was little. Still, I push it away. _ I’m angry_, I tell myself. Angry at him for being so persistent and reckless, angry at him for putting his trust in stupid, evil men. For _ leading _ blood-thirsty liars who like to hurt people, who hurt little girls. I find my fists clenching as I turn over to my side. For a second my sudden anger makes my body feel warm, but it cools back almost instantly when my eyes land on Gendry. 

His eyes are open, and he still shivers profusely, and his teeth still chatter. Drops of cold sweat fall from the tips of the black hair poking out of his yellow winter hat. The black sleeping bag hugs his body as he looks downcast, and then at me. 

“It’s so cold,” he whispers weakly over the crackling sounds of fire, Hot Pie’s snoring and the distant howling of the wind. 

Nymeria sits up from beside me and averts her attention outside the cave, her ears poking upwards. “Nymeria.” I call out to her rigidly. “_Come_.” She turns her head towards me and whines. I begin to wiggle out of my sleeping bag, feeling the cold air much more intensely now. When I’m out, I move towards Gendry, my eyes going to Nymeria acting uneasily, _ as usual_. She stands by the fire whining at the cave’s exit. “_Nymeria_.” I call out again, this time much more sternly. I watch as she turns to me once more, her ears going back. She starts to walk towards me with reluctance, whimpering the entire way back to me. “Oh stop being a big baby.”

I stand over Gendry on the stone ground, and step over his body to get to the right side of his bag. I watch as his eyes follow my movements from below me. I go to my knees and he begins to slide over to give me some room. I slide inside sideways, squirming in tightly, entering the warm sack like it’s a cocoon. When I’m inside, I realize that there’s scarcely any space to move around and that both he and I were stuck in our current positions, more or less. We could’ve fit better if Gendry was on his side, but the state of his shoulder didn’t make that a possibility. It was warmer though, a lot warmer.

Gendry turns his head, his face just inches from mine. I don’t realize my arms are wrapped around his right-arm until his eyes move down towards them. I feel myself blush as he looks into my eyes, and I into his. His eyes look dark inside the cave, and with the shadows the fire casts. Nymeria lays beside us, still whining. 

“That’s one stubborn wolf, quite reminds me of someone,” he says shakily over chattering teeth. 

“Oh, let's not talk about stubbornness.” I retort rolling my eyes. 

Gendry grins delicately. He exhales, closing his eyes as he does. It’s clear he’s in pain. I find the inside of the sleeping bag is hotter than it is warm. I feel sleepiness consumes me due to the warmth, the closeness of our faces and the clashing of our breaths. His eyes are half-shut as mine are. His legs shift slightly, as mine do. I stare at his lips, they look dry and pale, but still full and inviting. I find he’s looking at mine too. I think back to that night, when we agreed to go North together. I kissed him, happy to have him beside me, happy to have gotten through to that thick skull of his. “_Kiss me again_,” he said. The words almost seemed to come out of another person. _ Kiss me again_. So _ tender _ and _ gentle_. 

I had accepted his proposal with ease, holding onto his face and leaning into his hungry lips. I felt the softness and wetness of his lips then. If he hadn’t been feeling well, he didn’t make it evident in the way he kissed me back. He had placed his large hands on my waist, and turned over on his right side. He intertwined our legs to make more space on the narrow couch. And then passionately, we tasted each other’s mouths in a way we never had before. It felt wet, messy, and almost _wrong_ in a way.

For a while it seemed like we were alone, all alone in that eerie house. It wasn’t until I reached down from his chest to the erection growing from inside his pants that Hot Pie’s presence was no longer forgotten. I remember now, and I feel almost _ bad_. He slept off his many bowls of stew. Gendry said it was fine, that he wouldn’t wake up, but suddenly I didn’t feel like it. Especially since the house began to unravel all around me, bringing back memories I did not want, or asked for. 

And just like that, the memory of Gendry’s sweet kisses rot and suddenly it’s fiercely cold again. I remember the cold strange hands on me, and Weasel running down the steps, her tiny hands shaking as they held on to a pistol for dear life. Her double braids were a mess, and tears streamed down her face.

“_Leave her alone_!” She squeaked right before the bullets went off loudly. She froze, and a second later I screamed, or at least I think I did. Her hands went to her stomach and she lifted her bloody fingers to her face, the tears still streaming. She faced me as I reached for her, jumped over the sofa for her, but a belligerent hand pulled me back. I reached my hand over for her still, but I couldn’t reach. “_Mama_,” she mumbled, “_make it stop_.” She collapsed on the floor. I was sure I screamed that time. 

_ Mama _ … I think of my own mother, of the rumors, of what they said became of her. They cut her throat to the bone, the men in Camouflage, and then left her in a river to turn into one of those _ things_. And Robb was said to have his head was cut off. Then they had Grey Wind’s head sewn onto his body. And my father … I could still feel the warmth of his blood splattering on my face. And then Lommy comes to mind. His gangly body all alone in Wolfswood, with biters lurking to taste his rotting flesh. I shudder. 

I jump at the sound of Gendry’s voice, and suddenly I’m back inside the cave and nothing feels real. “Arya, why are you crying?” His face looks tired, concerned and glassy. Gendry hasn’t ever been much of a crier, in fact I can’t recall him ever crying. It made me feel weak and _stupid_ to do it in front of him. He’s so _strong_, and I’m so _stupid_. 

I wipe my face harshly with my gloved hand. “I’m _ not _ crying.” I snap.

“You _ were_.” He persists weakly. “There’s no use in lying about it.” I could feel as he shakes against me. Nymeria begins to whine again. Gendry’s sharp jaw tenses as he closes his eyes to exhale again, the same way he had before, like he’s completely hurting. He groans against the whistling of the nearly-Winter winds. I watch him closely, as I cling onto his arm waiting for the moment to pass. 

He sighs and opens his eyes, groaning again as he shifts slightly inside the sack. “It hurts?” I ask. 

He doesn’t say anything. Only looks to me, and shrugs. “It feels more like death than hurt. I smell like death. Can’t you smell it?” He sounds out of breath when he speaks, but his words are still powerful and send a piercing sensation to my chest. 

“No,” I lie. “It’s just your imagination.” 

“I’ve never had much of an imagination,” he huffs. He grins slightly before closing his eyes. He accommodates his position slightly to find a more comfortable position in the limited space. With the side of my eye, I watch as Nymeria stands suddenly, smelling the air, restlessness evident in her limbs. I ignore her as I squirm closer towards Gendry. I place my hand on his face, but he doesn’t open his eyes to my touch. I caress his hot cheeks, and pale skin. I tuck the damp strands of shaggy waves back inside his hat. He breathes out lightly, already becoming consumed by sleep. He was one of those people who could fall asleep almost instantly. 

With my thumb, I move in circles around his cheeks and then to his lips. “Gendry,” I say. “I think we’re nearly there. I feel it, and Nymeria feels it too. _ Please_, hold on a little longer. _Please ..._ for _ us_.” 

“For _ you_.” He mumbles sleepily. “_Only _ for you.” 

… 

_ For a little while I’m home again. The gray brick walls that made up Winterfell are suddenly all around me. It smells like home too. The sweetness of freshly baked lemon cakes, and winter roses engulf my nose. I breathe it in. I run around the warm carpeted halls, passing the statues of the lords and kings from thousands of years ago. A baby Nymeria follows suit as my beautiful mother, with her stiff posture and thick braided auburn hair, shouts for me to stop running. Septa Mordane is close behind, walking strictly after me, but not standing a chance in catching me. _

_ I giggle through the corridors. My hair is long and smells of earth and flowers. I run past my father and his guard Jory. I hear his warm laughter as a gust of wind hits my face. He calls out to me, but I keep running. Winterfell’s caretakers all call out to me with excited smiles on their faces. Brant, Decran, Minella, Nyra, Jeyne, Vayon, Rodrick, and the physician Luwin. I only laugh and keep running, unsure what I’m running towards but still eagerly keeping on nevertheless. _

_ I see Robb pop out of a room. His auburn hair is styled and damp-looking. I catch a hint of a smirk on his face as I flash past him. “Jon’s looking for you,” he says after me casually, his tone perky. The corridors stretch out before me, they look long, infinite, and never ending. But besides that, nothing about them looks off. _

_ But then at once the halls turn into crypts. Lanterns of cool colors light the path ahead. I’m no longer running, and the air bites. The statues to each side of me stand still and eerily. It feels like they’re watching me. “I’m not afraid,” I say as I look to Nymeria, who’s now bigger and more ferocious than ever. Beyond and ahead, I see a body. Fairly tall, and lean and agile. I squint as I try to make it out, but it doesn’t take long at all. _

_ “Jon!” I shout as I break into a sprint. I run now, faster than I ever have. But after a while, it seems it doesn’t matter. With each step he becomes further to reach, and when I call out to him my voice sounds muffled or muted. “Big brother!” I shout as I reach for him. My hand extends out, and my bare feet slam into the concrete with every step I take forward. I finally see his face, his face which is so much like mine, but entirely nice and sweet. _

_ “Arya?” He says my name. He’s all in black, and his long dark brown hair falls down to the end of his neck. He reaches his hand towards me as I continue to sprint, and though he does get closer, I can’t seem to reach him. He extends his hand out further, and our fingertips almost touch before he’s far away again. _

_ “Arya!” _

…

I wake up with a jolt, my heart pounding harshly against my chest. “_Hello_?” I ask at once, my voice echoing through the cave. It takes me a couple of seconds to realize that I only really heard my name in a dream. I wasn’t supposed to have fallen asleep. When I look around the cave, I find that I’m sweating. The fire’s almost off, and the snowflakes are now much thicker and falling much faster. The colors of the dawn consume the sky. The horses are all standing now, their tails moving from right to left uneasily. I look around nervously for Nymeria when I don’t sense her beside me. But almost instantly, I find her standing at the opening of the cave, her ears up, and her stance rigid. 

“Nymeria,” I call out to her in a hushed whisper. She doesn’t listen. “_Nymeria_,” I repeat. Still, she ignores me, whining away, and stepping forward towards the cave’s opening in utter rebellion. I sigh before deciding to go see what’s bothering her. I look over to Gendry. He breathes out sleepily and peacefully. I begin to squirm out of the sleeping bag, careful not to wake him. I feel the cold stone on my skin as I slip out of the sack. To my left, I watch as Hot Pie, tightly cocooned into his sleeping bag, snores with his mouth wide open. 

I stand feeling my neck stiff. I stretch out my limbs as I step towards my own sack. Tippy-toeing through the cave as to not be heard. Nymeria starts to growl as I go to pick up the pistol, and my dagger which lie at the side of the bag. I look over to her, and I know what she’s going to do before she does it. “_No, Nymeria-_” She runs out of the cave, into the gray skies and snow-infested forest. “_Seven bloody hells_!” She disappears in a gust of _ gray_. 

I run towards the horses while placing the pistol in it’s holster on my belt. I fumble with the dagger as it hangs over my belt as well. I grab _ Pony’s _ reins as I usher the animal outside the cave. He complains, not very much liking the lingering smell of Nymeria, or the already thick blanket of snow forming outside. Still he obeys. I look behind me as the sounds of his hooves hitting the stone echo through the cave. Gendry and Hot Pie remain asleep. I step out and look beyond. The world looks lonely, empty, and white. Snow falls over my coat, and over _ Pony’s _ dark brown hair. I mount the horse and find myself looking back again. 

… 

The land stretches out wide with tall trees consumed in white. Nymeria isn’t hard to track, especially not in the snow, but she went off way farther than I had ever imagined she would. I find my stomach feels ill with anxiety. Every step away from the cave becomes harder and harder to make. _ That bad wolf_, Sansa would rejoice to see how badly behaved and impulsive Nymeria had become. Sansa’s wolf Lady was so pretty with her light gray coat. She always listened to commands the first time they were spoken, and sat still during her baths. Sansa even fashioned her a collar of blue, red, and gray, and had her on a leash nearly half the time. It was _stupid_, Lady didn’t need a leash, Nymeria on the other hand might’ve. The thought of my sister fills me with dread, so I decide to put the thought completely away. 

As I trod up the snow-covered ground with _Pony_, I notice a chompie beyond the flurries. Only one. It moves excruciatingly slowly trudging through the snow. The grim morning daylight sets completely over the sky now. Beyond the trees, towards the North, snow-coated mountains stand tall. The biter seemed to come from that direction. I wait until the chompie is closer, before dismounting Pony, taking out my dagger from my belt. “_Biters in the head_.” 

It approaches, standing only several feet away. It was a young man once, probably. It wore a heavy jacket of brown leather, fur lining the collar. Under that, a ripped sweater of wool or maybe it was cotton. It’s jeans were ripped too. It’s hair was dark and full, and it’s skin gray, with a hint of blue. Veins of blues and greens lined his face, if it wasn’t for the cold, his face would be completely wasting away already. It was _sad_. 

I tighten my grip on the dagger with my left-hand, and walk the couple of steps towards it. It reaches its arms towards me, but I easily deflect it. It groans and growls with a croak. I come up behind the biter quietly and swiftly, slightly jumping to grab its neck, holding it in a bad attempt of a headlock. Gendry was certainly better at doing it the _ right _ way, but my way sufficed as well. As I hold it down, with my very limited strength, I impale it in the head with the thin long blade. It screeches as I grunt, and flails its arms from side to side, slower now. I yank out the parrying dagger before impaling it inside it’s head again in a different spot. 

With a heavy croaky sigh, it collapses, pushing me back into the snow. I fall on my arse with the chompie’s limp body over me. Pony whinnies and whines as the cold snow keeps falling airily on his hair. I kick off the body as I go to stand. I coat the dagger with snow from the ground before wiping it clean with the biter’s rotting sweater. I place it back into my belt before mounting Pony, the cold making my limbs feel stiff. As I continue after Nymeria, I find myself looking back once more for any more signs of infected, _of life_, of … _ anything_. But I was alone, with just the howling of the wind and Winter about to claim _ me_, about to claim us _ all_. 

… 

_ “Fuck_,” I whisper. By the look of the sky, it’s nearing the afternoon, and the cold is starting to become too difficult to endure. I knew Hot Pie and Gendry had surely been awake by now. I should’ve left a note, or let Hot Pie know I was going. _ Stupid_. If anything were to happen to them it’ll be my fault. Gendry was right, if I just trained Nymeria better, this wouldn’t be happening at all. _ It’s all my fault_. 

The wind whistles, and though the snow isn’t falling as heavily anymore, the air feels colder. I look towards the North again, in the direction Nymeria took off. The trees are fewer in that direction, and the land is more spacious, and pure. I stop the horse at once as I close my eyes and sigh. My stomach grumbles, and my hands tremble. I shake my head. “Nymeria, I can’t go much further,” I say. I feel silly when I say it for she’s nowhere to be seen, but still I say it. I open my eyes, and the world is exactly the same as before. I still see her footsteps printed in the snow, but this time I don’t follow them. I turn the horse to leave, gripping tightly on the reins. 

Before I could even _ think _ to set Pony into a sprint back to the secluded cave, that cave that reeked of death, I hear something. At first I think it’s the wind howling it’s piercing cry once more. I stop to try to hear it better, but I don’t hear it again until I begin to move away from it again. “_What …_” It’s a wolf, or at least it sounds like one. The howl booms out with an echo. _Was it Nymeria? Did she truly hear me? Could she be … calling me?_ I look back unsure of what I should do. The howling sounded close, awfully close, and I had already gone out this far ... 

“Just another mile”, I whisper to myself. “If I don’t find Nymeria within another mile I’m going back.” _ Yes, just about another mile … _

… 

Most of the trees around me are long, thin, and nearly all free of leaves. Branches jut out in all directions. As I ride through the trees in a sprint, I look to my surroundings and for a while I think it all looks _so_ beautiful. It reminds me of home, though I know I was way further up north than Winterfell. I breathe out harshly before stopping the horse in its tracks. I had been riding longer than a mile, _ surely_. “_Damn it to hell …_” It’s only when I’m turning _Pony _ around, that something catches my eye. I gasp before turning the horse back around. There’s something beyond the snow, beyond the pure white world. I find myself smiling before riding towards the gray speck in the distance. 

… 

When I nearly reach the wretched wolfdog, I dismount. She keeps walking forward though her steps are slow, almost like she’s waiting for me, or wants me to follow her. “_Nymeria_!” I shout, my voice booming and causing an echo. I tie up Pony to a tree before running after the beast on foot. I watch as she runs up a snowy hill, through thick trees with green needle-shaped leaves that smell of pine. I trod upwards, feeling as the snow reaches up to my ankles. She stops in the middle of the hill, looking behind me almost innocently. She’s finally close enough that I can see the gold of her eyes. 

“Nymeria! What has gotten over you?” I ask her out of breath, finally almost in arm’s reach. I run towards her, for a second afraid that she’d think to run off again. She doesn’t. When I reach her, I go to my knees and hug her thick neck, her body providing me with intense warmth. I grab her head seriously after awhile, and make her look me in the eyes. I point at her. “Have you lost your mind? You _bad_ _bad_ girl. Very bad!” She whines, and licks my face, before turning to walk away. “_No_!” I shout grabbing her tail, but she continues on. I stand quickly feeling as she pulls away from my grip. I run towards her, placing my hand on her back, and digging my fingers into her fur, grabbing on tightly. 

At once I feel her skin vibrate with a low-forming growl. Finally, she completely stops. I look back at _Pony_, as he stands still from below the hill. “Nymeria. Let’s go, _now_.” I say sternly. Her growling increases, and for a second I think she’s growling at me. The thought makes me feel stupid. When my eyes go to hers I realize that she’s not looking at me, or even facing me. And her stance changes. She’s looking deeply at something, with her mouth closed and her lips pulled back at the corners. She snarls to herself, and tucks her tail between her rear legs. 

“_Nymeria? What’s wrong?_” I follow her eyes, they look forward towards the ridge. There are more trees upwards, and snowy branches growing out from the ground. I don’t move, _ confused_. I don’t see anything at all, nothing but the motion of the winds moving the trees. I look around again, feeling the frost making my exposed face numb. I gasp, tightening my grip on Nymeria’s fur, and positioning my hand over my pistol. And then beyond ... I _see_ it. I almost miss it. _ White fur amongst white snow_. 

The eyes of the large beast glow, even from where I stand. It’s further up, _way_ further up, but if it were to run towards us at full speed, it’d be upon us within seconds. I feel my heart profusely pounding inside my chest. Nymeria howls. I squint unable to take my eyes off the beast. It looks big, way bigger than Nymeria. “Nymeria …” I say backing away slowly, as I hold the handful of her fur in my fist. I try to tug her away to no avail. 

“Leave it,” That thing could kill us both if it wanted to. But the more Nymeria defied me, the more I kept looking, trying to understand. And that’s when I realized something odd. Nymeria was no longer snarling, and her mouth was open instead of closed. She wasn’t barring her teeth, she was panting. Her ears now pointed upwards, and her tail moved in circles behind her. She felt … _ safe_. I see the wolf better now as it begins to approach slowly. _So_ _so_ slowly. I freeze as my heart starts beating through my layers. My grip on Nymeria suddenly loosens. 

I must be mad, mad to stand so still … _ but was I_? Then I see them, _ really _ see them: the wolf’s eyes. _ Red_. I go to my knees while Nymeria whines, howling lowly to herself. I extend my hand out towards the white beast. It towers over me, nearly twice the size of Nymeria. When it reaches us, it sniffs my hand gently. _Lady was not truly the prettiest wolf_. The beast licks and nudges my hand tenderly. “_Ghost._” I say with tears in my eyes. 


	8. Star

Jon

The truck roars as it moves through the snow. Grenn is driving. Pyp sits beside him, and I sit by the window looking at the white wonderland unfolding before me. One of Stannis’s men, _ Davos_, sits quietly in the back seat besides Edd. Pyp and Grenn speak amongst one another obnoxiously. Davos and Edd were more tasteful, and mature than Pyp and Grenn, and it wasn’t often that they’d partake in their foolish discussions. Grenn and Pyp spoke of the girls in Black Union, who they had their sights on, and who they did not care for. They do not mention Val, as the subject of her was _ off-limits_. I wasn’t the one who had come up with that ruling, I didn’t care if they wanted to speak of Val. As long as the conversation didn’t become vulgar, I saw nothing wrong with it. Sometimes Edd would join into their conversations, but never Davos.

Apart from _those_ discussions, I had not been paying much attention to their mindless chattering, as my mind was elsewhere. I become disoriented. The rumbling of the vehicle playing like white noise to my thoughts. The past couple of weeks had played out poorly and unproductively and _Winter was finally here_. From the base campsite, the campsite Stannis had ordered his men to form fifty miles south of the Black Union, I divided the fifty or so men into groups of five or six. They were sent to scout the outer perimeters of _The_ _Queenscrown_, _The_ _Wolfswood_, even extending more east towards _The_ _Last Hearth_.

Every night, when the days were over and we’d return back on the camping grounds, everyone would arrive empty-handed. Sometimes it felt as if no one had really been trying. I was a stranger to sleep, but I found that when I did sleep, I dreamt. I could see things I couldn’t normally _ see_, _ smell _ things, _ truly _ smell them. And I could run … as truly and as freely as I so chose. 

_Ghost_. Ghost had gone off on his own after the campsite was set. It wasn’t unusual for him to hunt outside on his own, but it was usually at the opposite side of the wall. Towards the side of the continent that wasn’t _completely_ littered with infected and corrupted with politics and gangs. Still, the frozen tundra had never been home to many, the outbreak only made it’s population even more scarce. I found that so many still preferred the kingdoms for it’s warmth and mere potential, even if it was currently a wasteland, but then again, what part of the world wasn’t? 

“_It won’t be like this forever_,” people would always say so full of faith. The Westerosi people wanted nice things, plenty of delicious food, pretty clothes, large homes, their health and their comfort. A simple and humble living in the tundra would never suffice. Simple didn’t always mean easy, and people lusted for pretty and easy things, as they always have, and always will. 

_ “Have you ever spoken to that long one? The tall one that’s always angry?” _ Grenn asks. 

_ “Jeyne? Jeyne Heddle? No way I’d get near that she-devil,” _ Pyp answers. _ “I’d sooner the little sister.” _

_ Little Sister_. Once again, I think of Arya. I wonder where she was hiding. The men I sent during the Early Autumn had been so sure her and _ The Wolf Pack _ had moved North, perhaps they were wrong, their incompetence wasn’t so hard to believe. But in this instance, I didn’t need to believe in their words with blind faith. I _ knew _ she was near. I could feel it, like an aching in my bones. _ Besides_, the North was so large and wild, and we hadn’t looked _ everywhere_, not yet. 

It was a pity it was Winter, if it were Spring, we would’ve had the entire season to cover ground, but now we only had a few days before we were all to return to the Black Union and lock down for the upcoming unforgivable Winter ahead. Val would love nothing more than to watch me return with no little girl to show for my persistence and defiance. “_ I don’t want to say I told you so_,” she’d tell me. I could already hear her voice. 

I always tried to do the _ right _ thing too, the _ smart _ thing, the _ rational _ thing, but at times it could be so difficult. Whenever I’d ignore my heart it’d end with me feeling so angry, so full of hatred and melancholy. I grew tired of feeling that way, sick and tired of it. 

“I heard she’s just as mean,” Grenn interjects. “That’s fine with me. I quite like a girl who bites.” 

“You like any girl that even thinks to look at your ugly face. All it takes is a smile and you’re in love.” 

“Is that so bad? At least I’m not fussy like you. You’ll never find no girl being like that.” 

“I’m not fussy.” Pyp retorts. 

“Yes you are. Not when it comes to Val though.” Grenn mumbles before beginning to giggle stupidly, completely forgetting about their own conversational rule. 

Pypar looks at me at once, his large ears hidden under his dark trapper hat. The hat strangely makes him look a little less ridiculous than usual. “I don’t know what he’s on about,” he whispers to me, almost anxiously. I don’t respond, only face away. 

I look outside the foggy window and watch the view of trees flashing past. The light in the sky begins to dull minute after minute, second after second. The snow falls down more heavily now, and the air from the truck’s heater comes out warm instead of hot. It was nearly time to return back to the campsite and have supper. To have to witness all the men in black returning with absolutely nothing of use, and drinking entire bottles of wine and spirits to stay drunk and warm. 

I close my eyes and lean my head to the window, feeling the bumping sensation of the truck against my temple. I sigh. _ Gods of my father, of my true father, and mother, please do not bring these men to me with nothing to show, not again. Please do not bring forth the real winter to me so soon. Let me find her … so I can be done with it. So I can carry on doing what I’m meant to be doing, so I can be who I’m meant to be. _

  
  


Arya 

I sit against a tree inside my sleeping bag, feeling as it holds me and covers me almost entirely, with only my eyes and nose exposed. Nymeria and Ghost are at either side of me, providing me even more warmth. I shiver as the winds pick up and whistle. The snow has slowed down immensely but now the winds blow more fiercely. I preferred the snow to the wind, but now that the Snow showers’ humidity was gone, all that was left was a sharp icy air. I feel my heart pound out of my chest as the nerves begin to overtake me again. _ Was I, once again, being stupid? _ Nymeria lays her head on my lap and whines as Ghost nudges me and goes to lay his head on my legs, right next to Nymeria’s. 

I sigh, feeling sickness in the pit of my stomach, feeling restless but exhausted all at once. My hand goes to my stomach. It no longer rumbles, instead I feel cramping and nausea. _ I should sleep_, _just a little_, I tell myself but I can’t. I look up to the night sky and see stars. The moon is full and glowing, but it shines in comparison to the flares that gleamed beside it in crimson.

_ Was I stupid for following it? _ I had noticed the flare a couple of days after leaving, after deciding to completely follow Ghost’s lead. And Ghost’s lead was completely towards that red ball of light that lit up the sky at night. And it was so close now, it would be moments until I would be able to see who and what it was that had kept shooting it up in the sky. I hoped for Jon, though if it were anyone else, _ someone bad_, it wouldn’t just cost my life, but Gendry’s, and maybe Hot Pie’s too.

_ Gendry_. I think of Gendry. I had gone back for them after finding Ghost after all, even despite Ghost’s plead to continue on North, to follow the brightest star in the sky. If Ghost was Nymeria, I would’ve been pressured to follow his lead unrelentlessly, or have to face him running off on me. But Ghost wasn’t Nymeria, and he had stopped and followed me when I asked him too. Nymeria’s golden eyes had followed the white wolfdog’s every move. 

On _ Pony_, it hadn’t taken long at all to reach the cave. The wolves ran beside me, as the flurries fell and the wind whistled. When I had arrived, everything was almost exactly as I had left it. The horses were still standing on the side, the fire burned in embers, and Gendry was still asleep. The only thing that was different was Hot Pie. He was completely awake, sat on his sleeping bag with his knees pulled in. Even in the dark of the cave I could see that his cheeks were completely red. He wasn’t wearing his coat, only his sweater was keeping him warm. 

He gripped onto the shotgun as his eyes scanned me from the outside of the cave. When his vision had confirmed it was me, he bolted up. “_Arry_!” He shouted, as I approached him shushing him. “I knew you wouldn’t leave us like that! I _ told _ him, I _ told _ him just that!” I tied Pony next to his horse-brothers to warm up as I carefully walked towards Hot Pie. I motioned for him to keep his voice down. My eyes fell to Gendry. He shivered and mumbled in his sleep. Then I quickly averted my attention to Hot Pie, as I watched how his eyes widened in shock. I knocked the gun out of his hands, and slapped my hand over his mouth before he could think to scream at Ghost’s fresh presence. 

“He’s _ Jon’s _ … my brother’s,” I whispered as a smile creeped up on my face, a smile I could hardly control. Hot Pie’s big brown eyes went to Ghost, and then to me, and then back to Ghost. At once he had relaxed, and I removed my hand from his mouth. I beckoned for him to sit before moving towards Gendry. I kneeled to his side, taking my left glove off to place my palm on the side of his face. “Hot Pie. Heat up some stew. _ Please_. _ Now_.” The wolfdogs followed my every move, I could sense their restlessness as well as I could feel my own. 

Hot Pie obeyed. I heard as his frantic footsteps hit the stone though my attention was on Gendry. “Gendry,” I said. “Gendry can you hear me?” I shook him lightly. His smoky breath caught the Winter air, and then he mumbled, hardly unable to open his eyes. I sighed, my belly became full of worry now, the ecstasy that filled me moments before was now gone. 

“He saw that you had gone, and he tried to go after you, but I wouldn’t let him. And _ then _ … he went out cold. _ I told him_. I told him there was nothing he could do. I told him you’d come right back. _ I told him_.” Hot Pie’s voice trembled as he spoke. He fumbled with the cans of stew, and the growing fire at the center of the cave. “But I got him back in bed. It wasn’t easy.” 

I looked to Gendry’s large body, his hard squared jaw, and shook my head. “No. I’m sure it wasn’t.” I told Hot Pie before looking at the unbroken bull beneath me. 

I grabbed onto Gendry’s face, and leaned in, the tips of our noses touched, as did our foreheads over our hats. “Gendry,” I whispered. “_Gendry_,” I said again and he mumbled in response. “I’m going to go on my own now, _ understand_? Don’t come chasing after me. It could cost you your life. I have Nymeria with me. And Ghost is here with me as well. _ Ghost_, Gendry. _ Ghost_. He’s Jon’s wolf. _ Jon’s _ … I think he’s going to take me to him. We’re so close.” I said. “You’ve got to trust me. _ Just this once_.”

He shook his head and his eyes slowly opened, though not completely. “I trust you.” He said, as his warm breath clashed against mine. I planted a light kiss on his lips, forgetting for a second that Hot Pie had most likely been watching us. My face became hot when I turned to witness Hot Pie looking at me, at _ us_, a little confused. I shook it off as I stood and went over to him. I placed my hand on Hot Pie’s shoulder. 

“Hot Pie, I’m trusting you. Take care of him. _ Please_.” 

Hot Pie looked over to Gendry and then to me, his round eyes sad and afraid. “What if something happens. And you don’t come back? I don’t want to be on my own.” 

I shook my head and looked over to Gendry, my eyes filling with tears. I tried to be brave, but my voice cracked. “I’m afraid we have no other options. I can trust you, Hot Pie. Can you trust me?” I asked him as I wiped away the measly tear from my face. Hot Pie wasn’t ashamed of his own emotions, his tears ran down heavily and wholeheartedly. Still he nodded, as bravely as ever. And then I left, ignoring the impulse I had to just lay down beside Gendry, to treat my exhaustion, to feel his warmth, to comfort him. The thought of him now fills me with sadness. _ When will it end? The misery, the sickness, the death? When? _

  
  


Jon

A fiery red flare shines in the night-sky. It was my idea to light flares every night, when everyone had returned to the camping grounds. Sometimes it’d attract a couple of infected, but it was nothing to truly worry about. _ Besides_, there weren’t many groups or gangs so up North of the country, and even if there were, they wouldn’t be stupid enough to assault half a hundred men equipped with assault rifles, and full gear. Many in the group thought using the flares at the base was a waste, perhaps it was, I didn’t care. 

I sit atop the pickup truck that was assigned to my group, my sleeping bag crumbled underneath me. I feel restless. Around me, I see tents rattling in the wind, and snow-coated trees close-by. The camp’s chatter had died down a couple of hours ago, and the smokey smell of campfire still lingers in the air. I feel hopeless, and dispirited. 

The boys tried to console me earlier, as if that wouldn’t make it all the more worse. Pypar, Grenn, and Edd all reminded me that they hadn’t had any family left and those of the Black Union were meant to be mine, and everyone else’s _newfound _ family. They said that I needed to learn how to cherish them as I cherish those who share my blood. As if it were that simple … as if Arya was just important to me because we shared _ some _ blood. 

I lean my back against the cold metal of the truck. My breath hits the air and comes out like smoke. I hold myself as my eyes avert upwards towards the dark sky. Some stars shine, but most hide behind sad clouds. I see one though, as clear as day, the one that glows beyond all the stubborn clouds. It burns bright, almost brighter than the fiery red flare. But the flare always burned out in under fifteen minutes, the same couldn’t be said of the blinding star, the one I’d remember ever since I was a babe in Winterfell. I lean my head back and close my eyes. I zip up my coat as high as it goes, and lower my knitted hat over my ears. I hug my body, rubbing myself repeatedly, trying to summon some warmth. _I’m sorry_, I think. _I failed you_. _ I’m no better ... no better than any of them._

My thoughts go back to Winterfell, the wind whistling, the smell of the Winter roses in vases around the halls. The gray carpeted floors that were plush and soft and reeked of pine. The hot springs underneath the estate’s foundation made the interior warm and cozy, and even the rooms that were much too warm were still so nice. I remember the occasional emergency sirens, and Catelyn Stark’s frequent scoldings. I remember Robb’s confident stance, and radiant half-smile, and I remember Sansa’s cold shoulder. I remember little Rickon’s scream as Bran hurdled from the ceilings to catch him before they both erupted in giggles. I remember my father smiling at us, and constantly reassuring his worried wife with the words, “_let them be children, Cat._” 

And then I remembered Arya. Her hair always a knotted mess, armed with a toy gun. She pointed it at my heart. “_Bam_!” She said as a red foam dart bolted out and hit me in the chest. I collapsed on the floor, dramatically. She dropped the plastic gun on the floor and sat beside me on the gray carpet. She put her little palm on my heart, and I’d hear her mumbling something under her breath. “Revive,” She’d whisper before punching me straight in the chest. Though her little punch hurt, it only made me burst out in a fit of laughing and coughing. At first she’d feel like I was laughing at her and pout, but soon enough her face would crack and she would smile, and then laugh with me. 

… 

Arya had been a difficult baby, according to _ some_. I never thought so. The day she was born I sought after her, something I’d never done with any of my other cousin-siblings, not even little Bran as sweet and as lovable as he was. Arya was different from all her soft auburn-haired siblings, that much had always been clear. She was _ like me_, like her father, _ our _ father. She was born wailing, and remained wailing weeks after. She came out of the warm womb fighting. The wet nurse Wylla once told me I was the same, that I cried and cried for my mother’s arms, but suddenly went silent when I realized they’d never come. 

One particular night, late at night, during the early Northern Spring, Arya was especially rowdy. I could hear her screams echoing through the halls of the estate. My room was the smallest and the coldest. Arya’s room was on the floor above mine, right above my room actually, and right next to Sansa’s. And not so far off down the hall would be the master bedroom where my father and his wife slept. I shivered from the sounds of baby Arya’s screams. I could feel her discomfort rattle my loins. Her bawling sounded so clear and distinct through the ceiling. She must’ve been with Wylla again, her new night nurse. 

Wylla had come back from Starfall with my father and me. She had become my wet nurse after her own babe got the grey. When she first stepped into Winterfell everyone had gotten the idea that she was my mother. There was a time when I thought that that had perhaps been the case, but it never felt right. She never felt like a mother at all. When I dreamt of my mother she wasn’t _ lithe_, _ strict_, _ olive-skinned_, and _ black-haired _ like Wylla. She was a pale, rosy-cheeked, warrior woman. Fierce and angry, but equally as loving and protective. Wylla wasn’t a mother, she was merely a maid, a maid whose heart didn’t belong to me nor any of the Starks she served.

I remember standing from my bed and wrapping my gray blanket over my shoulders like a cape. I dragged the cape through the halls and to the steps. There were portraits of the royal Starks hung on the walls as well as some paintings of ferocious direwolves. The eyes of my ancestors followed me as I ran towards the screaming baby. The stone walls were lit by oil-lanterns and I could hear the wind howling from outside. _ Or had it been a wolf? _ When I reached her door, I had knocked so nervously, if it had indeed been Catelyn in place of Wylla, I might’ve gotten the scolding of a lifetime, never allowed to see the light of day ever again. 

I had to knock again before anyone came to the door. Still … _ nothing _ . Arya’s crying notably muffled the sounds of my knocking. The third time, I knocked hard, a bravery overtaking me completely. When the door finally opened, brown eyes met me in place of blue ones. It was Wylla. She had already started apologizing until she realized it was just me. “_Jon _ …” she sighed as she rocked the hysterical baby in her arms. “Not again. Come on, _ off to bed_.” 

“But I can help.” I said through the door she was slowly inching to a close. The Dornish woman looked exhausted, she had developed bags under her eyes and her long black hair was fashioned into a messy-knotted braid. She had Arya tightly wrapped in a gray blanket. “Please!” I shouted much too loudly before the door could close. 

“Shhh!” She said loudly, pulling my little five-year-old-arm with her free hand. She yanked me inside the room and quickly went to close the door behind us. The woman rocked the baby as the sounds of her crying assaulted my eardrums. “Mistress Catelyn doesn’t want you coming in here, Jon. You know that-”

“-but I can help! I know how to hold her. You support the head _ and _ neck. Babies are fragile. Like glass.” Wylla never smiled much but she smiled a little at that. “I think she likes it when I talk to her,” I said through her crying. The woman closed her eyes and sighed looking defeated. 

“_Alright-alright_. Sit on the rocking chair first though. And if you drop her, I'll have your room barred at night,” she said as I excitedly ran to the center of the room where a wooden rocking chair sat beside a bassinet. I shrugged my blanket off excitingly, and stepped over it to leap on the chair. The chair’s wood creaked as I rocked back and forth gently. I positioned my hands how I had seen Catelyn do it, the way I had practiced with my tube pillow. Arya’s bawling increased as Wylla moved closer with her in her arms. “Alright, now-” The night nurse slowly lowered the screeching bundle in my arms. “-stop rocking.” I obeyed, and a couple seconds later a miniature Arya was in my arms. 

“_Good_, Jon. You hold her so well,” she said endearingly. I smiled lightly but still felt distraught because I thought perhaps she would’ve stopped crying instantly, but that hadn’t been the case. Suddenly I wasn’t all that happy anymore. _ Maybe she didn’t like me, either. _

“She’s still crying,” I said defeatedly, my eyes had already become wet with tears. Wylla went to kneel before me. Watching closely that I didn’t drop the baby, or hold her in a way that was entirely wrong. I remember how my arms had begun to ache as I tried to keep them in their perfect position. I didn’t mind the aching much, I just wanted her to stop crying.

“Why don’t you try speaking to her? She seemed to like that, right?” Wylla suggested. 

I nodded and looked down at her, at my baby sister. “It’s me, _ Arya_, your big brother.” Her cheeks were red, and she felt hot in my arms. That’s all it took, and suddenly she wasn’t crying so loudly anymore. She opened her eyes, her big gray eyes, and though she still cried, it had become much softer.

“_Wow_,” Wylla said shaking her head, an expression of disbelief on her face. “_Funny _ …” 

“You don’t have to cry anymore, you know.” I had said and slowly but surely she began to go silent. Looking onto me, almost attentively, intrigued. She hadn’t been hairless like Sansa, her brown hair, however thin, had filled her head. “Because I can protect you.” And then just like that, she wasn’t crying anymore, just watching, watching me. The estate was suddenly so silent, and from outside the wind could be heard howling once more.

Wylla had stood to step out to the other side of the room, and had come running back with a plastic bottle that had a little bag inside it. I thought she’d take the bundle from my hands now that I had finally calmed it, and suddenly I felt protective and possessive in a way I’d never felt before. “Can I do it?” I asked, looking at the bottle frantically and holding Arya closer to my chest.

Arya began to babble, almost happily. Wylla sighed. “Fine.” She said. “But let me put her in bed first. She has to go to sleep, she’s hardly slept at all.” The second Arya’s weight was lifted off me, she began to complain softly, it was something between a whine and a cry. I bolted up and followed the night nurse to where Arya’s bassinet stood. The bassinet was white and clean, and greatly stood out in the dark gray room. When Wylla laid her down, and I had started speaking to her again, she quieted down again. Wylla handed me the bottle and went to sit on the rocking chair, supervising. 

I had to tip-toe to reach her properly. I fed her her bottle carefully as Wylla watched from the side. Arya watched me, her eyes looking more intense than I’d ever seen a baby’s eyes look. “Your eyes look like mine … _ I think. _” I said. “But yours are nicer.” 

When Arya had finished her Bottle, her eyelids had begun to look heavier, and her blinking slowed, but still she watched me closely and fiercely, almost angry-looking. “It’s alright if you don’t like me. I’m yours anyway.” I said. And that’s when her expression changed, and she smiled. Bright and bold, shining in her little bassinet already. I felt warm and fuzzy as she finally closed her eyes and let out a sharp exhale. 

That night, Arya had slept long and peacefully, or so I heard. I wanted to stay, of course, but Wylla had assured me I could play with her the following day if I so wished. She thanked me, and squeezed my shoulder before I left the room. “You’re a good brother, I wish you had been my brother,” she had said almost sadly. I picked up my blanket again, draping it over my shoulders like a cape again and left the room, but not before taking one last look. “Go,” Wylla said, “before anyone sees you. I don’t want the mistress Catelyn to have heard about it. _ Go on_.” So, I left, as unwillingly as humanly possible. _ I hear the wind again, and this time it sounds more like a wolf than it did in my memory. _

… 

_ The blue light of the dawn glows under the gray wolf. She’s laying next to something, though she’s not sleeping. Her golden eyes follow me as I walk around her. The wolfdog stands suddenly and follows my stride. I feel restless, like I need to run, like I need to eat, but I can’t seem to leave. The world is full of snow, and the trees are less now. The wind is still and icy. The wolf stands beside me looking towards the same direction as me. She begins to howl. The sound echoing and booming. I watch her as she cries out. From behind a tree peaks out a girl, a gun in her hand, looking so lethal yet so fragile. And her smell … she reeks of melancholy. _

… 

I wake up to the sounds of howling. I feel stiff from the cold, but the sudden adrenaline fills me with some warmth. The camp is still not up, and the early light of the dawn takes over the sky. I kick away the sleeping bag as I quickly stand on the hood of the truck, jumping out to get to the driver’s seat. I think about whether or not I should wake one of the men and tell them where I mean to go, but they’ll think I’m crazy or start asking their endless questions. _ I go alone from here_, I decide. I grab the assault rifle from the back and lay it on the front seat beside me. I start the truck, the engine crying out violently surely waking some heads up. I quickly reverse away from the camping grounds, all the surrounding tents rattling in the wind. 

As I drive further and further away, I feel my mouth fill with the taste of blood. The vehicle feels hot though the heat isn’t on. The windshield fogs but I find no difficulty in knowing where I’m going. I can _ smell _ it. Whatever it was, I could smell it. The trees zoom past, and my gloved hands maneuver the steering wheel in what feels like their own accord. I’m so focused I forget where I am, what direction I’m driving towards. The sensation was odd, and though I didn’t like it much, I embraced it as it led me to that familiar scent. 

Arya 

I began riding with the wolves again before the grim daylight took over the sky. I didn’t sleep and it was beginning to feel as though my exhaustion could kill me. I could hardly stay on _ Pony_. But stopping to sleep again was a luxury I could not afford, not I, nor Gendry, nor Hot Pie. And it’s not like it mattered anyway, the nerves wouldn’t let me sleep. So I continue forth, feeling both hot and cold, a fever probably overtaking me once more. 

I pull off my glove with my teeth and go to place my hand on my forehead from under my hat. My hair is damp and my skin feels hot. I sigh feeling as the frost bites my fingertips almost instantly. I go to quickly slide my glove back onto my hand as I watch Nymeria and Ghost from a few yards away. They walk closely to one another, Nymeria just a couple of strides behind. The sounds of Pony’s steps on the snow play in my head like a song, and make me feel dizzy and tired. The sharpness of the cold wind hitting my cheeks wakes me up and brings me back to the world in the moments where I feel like I’m slipping away. But I try to hold on, as long as I can. 

… 

By the look of the sky, I notice it’s the later hours of the morning. Clouds fill the sky, and white furries begin to fall again. This time the snow is a little heavier, and everything looks almost dreamlike as I trot along on the dark horse. What were these wolves leading me to? I hoped for Jon, but he didn’t feel real anymore. Perhaps I had just imagined seeing Ghost. The snowy mountains around me seem to grow, and my legs start to go numb from the cold. I look forward and my eyes go to the white wolf, he turns his head to face me, his red eyes looking right through me, intensely. “_Jon_,” I find myself saying, not particularly understanding why I said it. Ghost turns away and continues to walk beside Nymeria. _ I’m dreaming_, I think. But shortly after, something else wakes me up again. This time it’s not the icy wind, or hunger, or anxiety, but adrenaline. The rearing sound of what I perceive to be a vehicle takes over the wintery silence. 

It comes from the north. I freeze, unsure as to what I should do. I don’t know whether to hide, or to run. But running was stupid, a horse was no match for any vehicle. Whoever it was, they’d catch me. And there weren’t many places where I could hide with a horse. Nymeria began to growl at once, her teeth barred and angry. Ghost remained as still as ever sniffing around at the air, and listening closely. 

I dismounted from the horse, a surge of energy suddenly possessing me. As my boots sunk into the pillowy snowy ground, I grabbed the rifle from the saddle. “_Go_.” I said to Pony before whacking him hard on the backside. “Now!” The horse whined before speeding away uphill towards the trees. I watched him as he ran off, dashing away quickly through the snow. 

When he was finally out of view I took a deep breath, looking back towards the wolves. Nymeria’s golden eyes were on something else, and my eyes searched unnervingly for Ghost. But I couldn’t place him anywhere. “Oh no …” I say feeling the panic growing in my chest. “Ghost!” I shout completely stupidly. I hear the vehicle’s engine roaring closer and run towards a thick dark oak tree. 

“Nymeria, come!” I command, and for once she obeys, but not before considering to disobey. She whines as she makes her way to me. I wrap my arm around her, and hold her close as I begin to fumble with the gun, my fingers shaking profusely. I flick the safety off, and count the bullets, before reloading again. I reposition myself as I hear the vehicle coming closer, but slowing down. It sounds like some sort of truck. I sit with my back leaning on the chilly trunk, letting go of Nymeria to clutch the rifle against my chest. Nymeria sits between my legs, moving around impatiently. “Stay still,” I say, as my heart continues to beat out of my chest. 

Suddenly, I can’t hear the vehicle anymore. Just the sound of a door opening, and slamming closed. _ One door_. Nymeria begins to cry, wanting so badly to pursue the intruder, whoever it was, whoever it could be. I peak from behind the tree and see a black pickup truck in the near distance. _ Black_. I stand up suddenly, the tree still rough and cold against my back. I look to Nymeria and she stands. She’s panting, and her tails wagging. I sigh. _Has this happened already?_ The gun falls to the ground at once. I don’t stop Nymeria when she goes bolting off towards the truck, I do the opposite. Through the trees and into the pure snow-paved ground, I follow. 

The flurries twinkle and shine as I walk forward feeling weightless. I see the truck, big and menacing amidst the white pure wonderland. And then I see Ghost again. He runs towards a man in black, a grown man, with modest facial hair and strands peeking out from his dark hat. Nymeria flashes past me towards Ghost, and the man, but he doesn’t pay much mind to her, just glances at her briefly before focusing his eyes on me. I stop finally, feeling the energy leave my body all at once. I take off my gloves, look at my palms, and quickly study the back of my hands. When I look up again, there he is, up close, in the flesh. 

He’s crying, I could tell. And he glows with a light that I can’t explain. He’s thin-looking, even with all the gear and layers on him. And he’s tall, but not too tall. And his face is sharp and frowning. He removes his hat and I finally see his hair, it’s dark brown, and long for a man’s. So familiar yet so strange. The last thing I see are his eyes. _ Gray_. Gray and fierce. Gray and oh so comforting. Suddenly, I felt _safe_, and the feeling felt queer and wrong. “I must be dreaming,” I say out loud before letting myself fall into my brother’s arms.


	9. Yours

Arya 

I wake up in a wide cold room. There are four hospital beds lined up one after the other. I’m in the one in the corner closest to the wide window. The window has thick black curtains which are completely open. They let the late-afternoon light into the room. I stare outside and see the snow falling, more heavily than I’ve ever seen before. I’m high up, at least on the 9th floor of one of the buildings. I sit up, feeling as if I’m in someone else’s body. “_Nymeria_,” I call out, but nothing. The warm moist rag that was laid on my forehead falls to my lap with a _ squish_. 

I sit back as I feel my head begin to feel light almost instantly. I look to the white ceiling, and from above, I could hear strange and distant footsteps and chattering. I notice there’s a needle in my arm, and it’s attached to a bag. I’m dressed in a thin black hospital gown, one that Jon provided me with after I stepped out of that _ heavenly _ shower. _ Jon_. 

Once the ecstasy of seeing Jon again faded, I found myself feeling worse than ever. All the bad feelings I’ve ever had returned, and twice over. At once, there was something else, _ someone _ else, to lose. I remember feeling sick with worry for Gendry. I had told Jon I was going back for him, for him and Hot Pie. Jon had looked taken back, almost offended. “_We’ll _ go,” he had corrected fiercely. “_Together_.” I only nodded, as he practically carried me off to the truck. Thinking back, none of it feels real. I look at my hands, skinny and bone-dry. When I pinch my skin with my long ungroomed nails, it stings and bleeds a little. “_Not a dream_.”

Jon and I were quiet in the truck. I told him which way to go and he followed my instructions carefully, even though I hardly knew where I was. Nymeria and Ghost were in the trunk, sitting side by side, their fur blowing in the wind. It was almost dark out when we found the cave, but we found it. Gendry had been even worse than ever, mumbling away in his sleeping bag. Hot Pie stood at the end of the cave clutching his shotgun, and trembling. He shouted my name when he saw me, and the shotgun had accidentally gone off when he saw Jon’s fresh presence. Luckily, he hadn’t hit anyone, only the cave wall. 

Getting Gendry into the truck was a group effort, but Jon was strong and determined and made the job seem quick and effortless. We laid Gendry in the backseat. I sat with him, laying his head on my lap. I clutched his head, and smelt his wound against my own will. Hot Pie sat in the passenger seat, quickly loading the car with the remaining cans of soups and stews. I felt impatient as Gendry mumbled in pain. 

For a little while, Jon had disappeared. It felt like longer than it really was, I know that now. I looked all around for him from inside the car, the frosted windows making it hard to see properly. I jumped when I heard an assault rifle go off, the sounds of the horses’ hysterical braying following that. The noises echoed through the sky. I felt my heart beat against my chest. I froze in place, and then all at once, it had all made sense. He was covering up my crimes, _ our _ crimes. 

When Jon ran back inside the car he looked at me, a sad look of understanding on his face. He knew what _ I _ had done, what _ we _ had _ all _ done, and I couldn’t hide who I had become, not from Jon. I looked down and away from him, feeling ashamed. Then he started the truck and we were off. He hadn’t said much the entire ride back to his camp, and shortly after, The Black Union. Even Hot Pie was quiet, only speaking to introduce himself politely, and to thank Jon. 

I felt Jon watch me from the rear view mirror. He probably couldn’t believe how ugly and dirty I looked. I looked away every time our eyes met, my face heating up due to my shame and my nerves. I averted my attention back to Gendry’s pale skin and lips, back to attempting to keep him awake as long as I could. “_We’re nearly there_,” Jon would call out every once in a while. After stopping at the camp, five trucks, identical to Jon’s, began to follow us. I felt afraid again, the feeling of safety that came alive through Jon’s embrace was gone. I only closed my eyes. _ Fear cuts deeper than daggers_. _ I’m alright. I’m alright. I’m alright_. 

When I had finally opened my eyes, a large wall of ice had emerged, standing tall, and wide, and almighty. Hot Pie gasped. I was too lost in thought, worry, and fear to be impressed. I pressed mine and Gendry’s foreheads together for a little while, trying to find any comfort I could. It felt like he was on fire. The vehicles roared in unison and I found myself looking outside again. I watched as a giant metal gate opened in the distance and the truck bolted inside. 

Inside, there was an enormous barbed fence, and men in black gear holding up devices of sorts. The devices had looked a little like the ones the soldiers in the capital had, except they were black, small, and clunkier-looking. They checked for the Grey Virus. The little portable guns had been a new invention, _ detectors _ they called them. Most people couldn’t afford them anyway, so really they mostly served as a device for the wealthy, and not so much as a device for aiding the preservation of human kind. 

A red dot lit over Jon’s head before beeping lightly. Then Hot Pie’s. And then Gendry’s. I was last, and it had taken a couple of tries before the machine had finally beeped in my favor. _ Strange_. In the rear view Jon looked anxious and pale. The men had looked over to Nymeria and Ghost freezing for a second before eventually nodding towards Jon. They had almost doubtful looks on their faces. They swallowed hard and said “commander,” before opening the fence, and allowing the truck to pass.

Two enormous buildings towered over us, as the truck drove through snowy shoveled pavement to a tunnel-like opening underground. Jon shouted something to some soldiers passing by, and they nodded before running off in the opposite direction, towards the buildings. The other vehicles followed suit towards the underground tunnel. It was a wide, cold and wet interior, with low-ceilings. There was nothing except vehicles, supplies, and a couple tanks. It was a lot of sorts. 

Before I could think to lift Gendry and bring him to safety, two young men in scrubs emerged from a door on the side. They wore face masks, gloves, and of course, were all in black. The backdoor slammed open, as the two men looked to me and then to Gendry. They pulled him out of the car impatiently by his feet, and Gendry groaned. 

“Careful!” I shouted, but they did not pay much mind to me, they only resumed to treat his body like a doll. I watched as the two men, with Jon’s help, lifted Gendry onto the gurney, quickly and aggressively. “Careful with his shoulder,” I repeated. 

The shorter plumpier man’s eyes met mine. They were pale and kind. “S-sorry lady Stark.” 

_ “Don’t call me that.” _

_ “Don’t call her that.” _

Jon and I had spoken at the exact same time. I looked over to him, and he had already been looking at me, a sad look on his face. He came over and reached his hand over to me. I took it, climbed out of the truck, and stepped onto The Black Union. 

“Oh, pardon me,” the man said softly, and I suddenly felt bad for getting so snappy. 

My attention went to Gendry as they adjusted his body and began to wheel him off. I observed Gendry’s colorless face. His lips were dry, peeling, and looked blue. When I stepped towards him, Jon had grabbed my arm and assured me he’d be fine, and that I wasn’t allowed in the surgical unit with him. I watched him disappear through a door into a long dark hall. Already the smell of rubbing alcohol and chemicals stung my nose. I had become so accustomed to the smell of trees, campfires, and blood, and the unnatural and sharp aromas had taken me by surprise. 

“You get used to it,” Jon said, as if he were reading my mind. He led Hot Pie and I through the echoing underground hall, the wolves following closely behind. He told Hot Pie that someone would come to confiscate the food from the truck and he groaned with displeasure. 

Everything was moving so slowly as I took in the dark walls and the ambiance of this new world. The building seemed to pulse with a life of its own, much like Winterfell had. Our wet boots squeaked as they stepped on the glossy floor. With each step, I felt lighter and lighter. A lift opened when we turned a corner, the sounds of the metal grinding. I stepped in after Hot Pie, with Jon right behind me. Nymeria and Ghost followed, and Nymeria had bolted to my side and yelped. When the doors closed, the pressure coming from the lift made my head extremely light. Jon had caught me before I fell. 

… 

I move my hands over the covers, feeling the fabric with my fingertips. I slowly move upwards, my palms feeling my thin hospital gown, and then shortly my neck. I could feel the chain around it still. I go to pull the necklace out from under the fabric. The gold color stands out amidst all the black. I run the half-heart pendant through my fingers as I look around the room again. The beds are singles with gray or white covers. None of them look slept on much. I sit up as the sounds of people from outside the room continue. “_Nymeria_.” I call out again. 

I whip off my covers before slamming my bare feet on the cold tile floor. I look to my arm and stretch it out before me. I begin to fumble with the tape, feeling the sting as it rips off my skin. When it’s off, I gently pull out the needle, the uncomfortable sensation making me shiver profusely. A trail of blood begins to seep down my arm, and I quickly go to pat myself gently with the covers, leaving blotches of crimson printed on the white cloth. 

I stand, and still my head feels light. I sigh with annoyance. My stupid worthless, skinny and weak body is useless and no amount of rest was going to change that. My knees wobble as I make my way to the exit of the long room. I hear passing footsteps, and then what sounds like two people squabbling. The smell of food enters through the cracks. My stomach growls fiercely, and stupidly, I remember why it is that I feel so weak. _ Stupid_, I remind myself again. 

As I reach towards the silver knob, the footsteps and the voices become more prominent. My heart races all of a sudden, as if I did something wrong. One of the voices sounds soothing and familiar. I lean in to listen before the door opens up with a slam, nearly hitting me in the face. I back away and at once see Jon enter with a tray in his hand, a blonde woman in black beside him holding a clipboard. And behind them I see men in black scrubs walking past, all sneaking peeks inside the room, my eyes undeliberately meeting their curious glances. 

A gust of gray flashes past me, and at once I feel pressure on my chest as Nymeria goes to tackle me, her excitement making her unreasonable. I fall on my arse. “Arya!” Jon shouts as Nymeria’s fur blurs my vision and she continues to lick my face all _ too _ happily. 

“I’m alright.” I assure him as I run my fingers through Nymeria’s fur, quickly feeling rejuvenated by her presence. 

“Gods, Arya. What’re you doing out of bed? Where were you going?” 

“I had to … _ use the bathroom_.” I lie. 

“The bathroom’s _ there_,” Jon said nodding towards a narrow door behind me I had completely missed. Nymeria begins to relax a little, she sits on the floor beside her. Though her tail continues to wag away fiercely, and her mouth is still ajar and panting. 

“I didn’t know that was there,” I confess as I begin to stand. 

“You’ve used it more than a few times,” Jon said, his eyes sadly meeting mine. He paused for a second, his stare long and concentrated. When he finally broke it, his eyes went to my arm. “Your arm is bleeding, Arya,” he said with frustration in his voice. “Go back to bed,” he commanded, strong and demanding. My first impulse was to defy him, to say “_no_,” and to remind him that I don’t take orders from him. But after a second thought, I realize that there’s no use in fighting, and I just want to eat. 

I look away, almost embarrassed, as I make towards the bed. Jon, Nymeria, and the woman following behind me. The door closes and the sounds of chattering and commotion lowers down. I throw myself on the bed defiantly and fold my arms over my chest. Jon walks towards me, and I shrink, as he reaches out beside me to pull out a small foldable table from the side of the hospital bed. It unravels before me, above my lap.

“_Ah_,” I say stupidly as he sets the tray of food on the little table over me. I catch a little smile growing on his face, but I look down, as my cheeks flush and I feel embarrassed again. 

“It’s just porridge and dried fruit. Supper will be better. Meat and potatoes mashed in butter, maybe some sweets too.” I look at the food, it looks appetizing enough, and the smell is sweet, a touch of cinnamon coming through from the porridge. My stomach growls again. I look to Jon, his sad gray eyes meeting mine. His hair is tied back, and a dark brown wave falls down over his face. His facial hair is growing in nicely, but not quite there yet, as if he normally had the habit of shaving it off. Though Jon was a little older than Gendry, his beard was nowhere near as thick or defined. _ Gendry_. 

“How’s Gendry?” I ask. 

“He’s fine. I told you he would be. His body is responding perfectly well. It’s the infection that was killing him, but you already knew that. Still, we cleaned him up and patched him up again.” Jon smiled. “With some antibiotics, he'll be good as new.” 

I sigh in relief. I crack a wide smile and try to cover it but can’t. The smoke coming from the porridge fills my nostrils. My eyes land on the girl behind Jon. She’s pretty, beautiful even, with a long braid falling down her shoulders. Her face is hard at first but eventually it softens when she catches me smiling. She smiles back at me lightly. She steps forward to nod in greeting. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Arya Stark. I’m Val. _ Lieutenant _ Val.”

“_Hello_,” I say as the woman steps closer. I instantly recall her perfect posture and her unblemished porcelain skin. Her hair looks silky and soft and her black leather jacket hugs her womanly curves. I shrink, and immediately find myself pulling my blanket over my body, almost ashamed. I feel Jon’s eyes on me as he stands beside her looking like a fully grown man. He looks so much like father now, except Jon was fairer, more graceful and … _ I tremble _at the nature of the thought. 

“Something wrong?” Val asks. 

“No.” I say quickly. 

“You looked-” The woman looks over to Jon, they look at one another before Jon shrugs and shifts his focus towards me again. “_-never mind_.” Val looks around, almost seemingly anxious, before she sits at the end of the bed, on the edge. “Eat.” She says and I obey at once. I shove a spoonful of the hot porridge and bits of the fruit into my mouth. I feel Nymeria’s stare from across the room, but I don’t pay her much mind. The sweetness tastes too nice, and my mouth tingles. I shove another spoonful inside my mouth before I’ve even swallowed the last. 

“_Easy_, Lady Stark.” She says. “The porridge won’t run off.” She smiles.

“_Sorry_.” I say, her tone reminding me a little of my mother’s. When I look to my left, I find Jon smiling at me warmly, and suddenly the whole thing feels _too_ familiar. I continue eating at a reasonable pace though the strong urge to inhale the food remains. 

Val puts her clipboard down by my feet as her dull blue eyes meet mine. She tilts her head as she studies my face. 

“_Arya_,” she says. “Do you know why you’re here?” 

“Huh?” I look to Jon, his face concerned and anxious now. “What do you mean?” I ask Val. 

“I mean _ here_. In _ this _ room. _ Alone_.” She responds. 

“What’s _ this _ room?” I ask curiously. 

Val sniggers. “Well, I suppose the answer is no then.” 

“_Right_.” I say before stuffing another enormous bite into my mouth. 

“Well, you’re here because your brother cares a great deal for you, and went through great lengths to find you.” Her eyes fall on Jon for a second, almost suggestively. “But you’re _ here _ because when you came through the checkpoint, one of our detectors declared you infected-”

“-Val,” Jon cuts in but the woman ignores him. 

“I do not want to scare you, but do you have any idea what the reason for this might be? Thousands of people live here, you know. And just one infected trodding about can lead to another, and another, and another. You see?” 

My heart begins to pound inside my chest. I drop the spoon in the bowl before looking over to Jon, waiting for him to say something, _ anything_. But he looks almost as shaken as I feel. 

“I’m not infected,” I point out loudly. “I’ve _ never _ been bitten. Inspect my body for bites, and you’ll see it’s true.”

Val leans in. She looks almost warm now. “I believe you.” She says all of a sudden. “There are _other_ reasons that could explain why it was that you were detected as infected. I mean _ most _ people turn within three days, if it were a bite surely you should be fully turned-”

“-Val,” Jon cuts in again, this time more sternly. 

“It’s been _ three _ days?” I ask, astonished. 

“_Four_,” Val corrects before continuing on. Her eyes land on me, and this time they look more gray than blue. “Arya, you lived in the capital for a little while, right? With your father and sister? When the supreme leader was still in power?” 

I nod. 

“Could you at least wait until she’s done eating? Before putting all this on her? You’re scaring her.” Jon says grimly. By the tone of his voice alone, I could tell there’s something he doesn’t want Val to know, something about me. Something, I don’t even think I know. 

“I’m not scared.” I say as I fold my arms over my chest. “Why should I be?” 

“_Right_.” Val says before shooting Jon a rude look. “Well, Arya certainly you’ve heard of the vaccines? They were said to have reached the Capital around the time you, your father, and sister were there. That’s the rumor.” 

“A _ stupid _ rumor.” Jon says. 

I don’t say anything for a second. I don’t know if the rumors were true or not. The vaccinations the physician Pycelle was giving the noble kids could’ve just been for Summer Fever or Butterfly Fever. I was a stupid little girl when I had first arrived to the Capital. I felt like that stupid little girl most days.

“Jon is right. A _ stupid _ rumor.” I say.

“_Oh_?” Val says, her face full of surprise. 

“A stupid rumor crafted by The Lannisters to dispose of the supreme leader. Many think the Lannisters created the Men in Camouflage. But the less sharp-minded see it as a mere allegiance. Still the Lannisters won and the Capital fell nevertheless.” The words flow out of my mouth. I stop before I can say anything else, anything _ more _ stupid. 

“_Ah_, a kooky conspiracy.” Val’s lip tightens, not falling for a word of it, not that I thought she would. 

“_Yes_,” I confess. “To add to all the others.” 

Val’s face cracks and I catch her smiling again. Though I feel as if part of her feels slightly annoyed. Jon smiles wide too, but it’s nothing but pure amusement on his part. It was always so easy making Jon smile. Val grabs the clipboard atop the bed and stands. The aroma of leather, flowery essence, and soap dancing around me as she does. “Very well.” She says as she begins to study my face one more. “I’ll let you get back to your meal.” She turns to walk away, gesturing at Jon to follow. She’s tall and graceful, but her boots hit the tile hard as she walks. 

Jon looks at me, a smile still creeping on his face. He steps towards my bed and grabs my arm. 

“What’re you doing?” I ask. 

“Putting your IV back in.” He says casually. Jon grabs my arm and sits at the edge of the bed. He takes the damp towel from my lap and wipes away the blood that had been dripping down my arm. He throws it to the table on my left. I watch him as he fumbles around with the needle, focused. His face looks paler, and I notice a pink scar starting from his eyebrow and going down his cheek. His jaw looks much more defined than it had before, and his hands look large and veined, like a stranger’s hands. 

“_Jon_.” I notice Val standing by the exit, waiting. “Let’s go. We’ve got to finish locking down.” Nymeria walks closer towards me now, she sniffs around at my food before sitting on the floor beside me. 

“I’ll only be a second, you go on ahead.” I jump when I feel the pinch of the needle. Jon smiles. “_Sorry_.”

Val sighs, opening the door in front of her and walking off. “_Hurry_.” She says before making her way out. 

The second the door closes behind her, Nymeria leaps at the center of the hospital bed, right over my legs. She lays down into that tight ball of hers and huffs. I suppose she’s not _ that _ hungry. I reach in to caress her with my right hand as Jon’s thumb flattens over the strip of tape on my left arm. “_There_,” he says, his eyes meeting mine. “You were dehydrated. That fever had you sweating out buckets.”

“_Oh_.” I say. I bring the hospital gown over my nose. “I suppose I could use another shower then.” 

Jon sniggers. “_Arya_,” he says. “You’ve no idea how happy I am to have you back.” He cups my left hand in his. 

“Truly?” 

“Of course.” 

I look away feeling that sadness again. I don’t know what to say. I only bite my lip. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask you, but I was waiting until you’ve gotten better. What _ happened_? I need to know that you’re alright, that everything’s okay.” 

“That’s a loaded question, Jon … I’m here, _ aren’t I_?” 

“The rest of your group? What happened to them?” 

I sigh and look away. I’ve no energy to discuss such matters now. Still Jon’s upset. I attempt to deflect his worried eyes but they continue to chase me. 

“Was it _ me_? _ My _ men?”

My thoughts go to a place I don’t want them to go. Back to Weasel’s and Lommy’s rotting corpses. And even father’s. Jon having his face didn’t make it any easier. I thought of Weasel’s last word, and before I could stop it, a tear ran down my cheek. Jon wipes it off before I could.

I shake my head. Unready to speak of it all. And Jon being the patient man he is, the patient man he’s always been, only nods and goes to embrace me. He smells of leather, pine, and Ghost. Of Winterfell, _ still_, after all this time. I bury my nose inside his jacket as he tightens the hug. I don’t reciprocate, although I want to, more than anything. Part of me still feels angry, and wants him to know it. 

“If Val, or Stannis, or any of them come back asking their questions don’t… tell them the truth.” He says it in my ear in almost in a whisper. I shiver.

“Should I tell _ you _ the truth?” I mumble. Jon breaks apart the embrace and looks at me. Hurt evidently planted on his face. He looks as if someone punched him in the chest. Suddenly I feel unwell again. 

“Yes. _ Always_.” He says. Scanning my face, his large gray eyes becoming wet. “Whatever you might be feeling, I just want you to know, I’m on _your_ side. I _always_ have been and I _always_ will be.” Jon leans in, he presses his lips on my forehead, and lets them linger there for a moment. He then kisses it gently, before going to stand from the bed. 

“I better go. I’ll come back later with supper.” He turns to leave, and I watch as he begins to walk away. Nymeria whines and goes to follow him, but I stop her and she sits back down, defeated. 

“Jon!” I call out when he’s at the exit. He turns around, enthusiastically. “I’m happy too.” I say, almost like I’m trying to convince him. The bleakness planted on his face still continues to grow. “Jon. _I_ _ am_.” In truth, it was _ Jon, _and I _am_ happy_._ It wasn’t his fault he had to evacuate Starfall, and that _ some _ of his men ended up being untrustworthy. Sometimes I could get so angry, and be so stupid … so terrible. I didn’t deserve him being so nice to me. 

Jon smiles at me tenderly before turning the knob. “Finish the rest of your food and I’ll show you around later, after supper, if you’re feeling better.” I nod. “Until then, _ little sister_.”

_ Seconds after the door closes behind him, I start counting the hours until supper. It was stupid. At least I wasn’t alone, at least I had Nymeria now. But even Nymeria felt on-edge inside the narrow establishment room, probably wanting to get back to Ghost. I sighed, scarfed down the rest of the porridge and slept until the sun was no longer in the sky. _

  
  


Gendry 

I open my eyes and don’t know where I am. I look around the room confused. It’s a good size, small but nice. The only light source comes from a lamp on a desk to my left. Beside the wooden desk is a worn-out chair. All I can hear are the distant sounds of machines beeping and the eerie silence. When I clench my fists I find my left hand feels stiff. I find a needle inside the back of my hand, stuck to me with patches of coarse white sticky paper. I run my fingers over my hand, still feeling _ lost_. 

I sit upon a comfortable bed covered over a thick light blanket that smells of chemicals. I’m in a long and loose black gown of sorts. I slowly pull the cloth over my nose with utter curiosity. _ Has someone bathed me? _ My fingers drift over the gown. I feel the rough material and move upwards towards my left-shoulder. I gently drag my fingers to the place where the bullet found my flesh all those weeks ago. That moment felt like an infinity ago. 

I don’t remember much of what happened, of how I got _ here_. I remember waking up to the piercing cold and watching as Hot Pie built another fire inside the cave. The pain was intense and my body felt sick. _ So sick_. I was nearly ready to die. I felt my limbs shaking profusely, and my movements were slow. In the dull daylight, I noticed that there were two horses rather than three, and that Nymeria was nowhere to be seen. And when my eyes landed on Hot Pie he looked afraid and suspicious, like he was trying to hide something. 

“I heated one of them soups for you.” The smell of the food in it of itself was making me feel ill. I brought my hand out from the sleeping bag and shoved the can away. I watched as it went rolling away to the other side of the cave, passing right behind Hot Pie. “What’d you do that for?” He had said when it completely stopped at the other side of the cave. 

“_Where. Is. Arya_?” 

“_I dunno_.” 

I sat up from the sack, the blood inside my body hot and draining any energy that was left of me. The room had begun spinning at once, but if it hadn’t, I knew I would’ve gotten up and made Hot Pie tell me what I wanted him to tell me, in maybe not the _ best _ way. Instead, I had just gone out cold. And that’s the last thing I _really_ remember. 

I still feel drowsy and light-headed, though well-rested. Some sort of bliss consumes me, and the pain I last remembered is nearly all gone. I feel as if I’m whacked on some Milk of the poppy or something. It helps disassociate me with my suspicious nature. I recall people in scrubs coming in and out of the room while I was half-dead. I can’t remember much more, though things are slowly starting to become clearer.

The room is windowless but it feels like it’s late due to the lack of commotion beyond the door. I sit up, and feel the rush of blood making my vision foggy. I ignore it. I spy a tray of food to my left. It’s meat and greased-up potatoes. I slam the tray on my lap and begin to stuff the cold food into my mouth, no utensils required. My hunger intensifies with every bite, and before I know it, the tray’s empty. I lean in to place it back on the table, grabbing the container of ice water beside it next. 

I belch, sit back, and gulp down the water, my mouth stupidly dry. The coldness feels nice going down. And it helps with satiating me from that pathetic heavily-portioned meal. My shoulder feels raw and stiff, but the discomfort is manageable. 

“_Most people would use the cup_.” 

I react late to the sound of her voice. Still, I jerk up, and ice cold water seeps down my neck and under my hospital gown. A few chunks of ice cubes manage to slip down my gullet and send me into a coughing fit. 

“_Gods_.” 

I put the container back on the table as the ice continues to move slowly down my throat. I continue to bark out like a dog, my hand on my chest. I feel my eyes tear up from the strain of my monstrous coughs. Arya makes it to the bed beside me. She places her hand on my back and caresses it. 

“If you’re coughing, you’re not _really_ choking.” She says. “_Breathe_.” I hold out a hand to her, motioning for her to stop talking. She rolls her eyes and I swallow it all down before going for the container of water again, my coughing going from intense to mild. I gulp more water before passing it to Arya who takes it and puts it down on the table for me. I’m short of breath, unable to let one word out. 

Arya’s smiling. “Are you alright there?” She asks, patting my back. 

“_What is wrong with you_?” I ask with a croak. My throat feels raw and the words are hard to get out. “_Can’t you knock?_” 

Arya smirks mischievously as she scoots closer. “I went to turn up the lamp, didn’t you notice? Besides, I couldn’t. I had to be quiet. They’ve got curfews here, you know.” 

I shake my head. I look around the room and notice it is a bit brighter, though still dim enough that one could’ve easily missed it. I continue to compose myself, coughing every so often. I find myself staring at Arya. Her face looks smooth and clean. Her short hair is damp but wild and messy still. She’s wearing clothes I’ve never seen her in. A large black shirt, comfortable black pants underneath, and gray socks. Her cheeks are red, making her look as if she was just doing something strenuous. She runs her tongue over her pink lips before going to bite them. 

“What?” She asks, leaning back on the bed, and folding her arms over her chest.

“I didn’t say anything.” 

“You’re staring.” 

“I just noticed you’ve ... _ bathed_.”

Arya furrows her brow and slaps me on the chest with the back of her hand. “_You stupid_.” She goes on her knees to sniff all around me like a dog, getting closer and stopping close to my face. It’s been a while since she’s been playful like this, surely she’s in good spirits. “But _ you _ haven’t.” She says. Her gray eyes inches from mine. She’s so close I notice her freckles, which aren’t usually easy to notice. The golden half-heart necklace dangles from out of her shirt before she catches me looking away. Flustered, she sits back down, her face turning even more red. 

She shivers before sliding into the blanket beside me, her thighs touching mine. She twists her mouth curiously before going for my hand over the covers, interlacing our hands, shyly. 

My heart feels heavy inside my chest. I wasn’t so good at showing emotions. For a long time I tried to convince myself I didn’t have any. That things like love, family and friendships were beneath me. But I didn’t know about all that anymore. Maybe I’d gone _ soft_. 

“Arya.” I rub my thumb over the back of her hand. “I wanted to thank you for your stubbornness.” I crack a smile unwillingly. “I mean … _ for saving me _ … for getting me to safety.” 

Arya cracks a shy smile as well. “We’re not so sure this place is safe yet.”

“I think we’re fine. I’m alive and pumping aren’t I?” 

“Hardly.” She says studying my face. “You do seem rather out of it.” Arya tilts her face curiously. It’s _endearing_. 

“I think it's the milk of the poppy.” 

“_Woah_ … you're a milk-junkie now.” 

“I guess I am.” 

“_Besides_.” She says. “It was mainly the wolves. If it weren’t for Ghost, we’d _all_ be dead.” 

“_Gods_. Just take the fucking gratitude, Arya. Is it really so hard not be so self-loathing all the time?” It comes out meaner than I intended, but she doesn’t seem to take it the wrong way, as if she knows that it wasn’t ill-meant, like she understands me.

“You’re welcome,” she says after a while.

I pause. “How did you find my room anyway?” 

“Jon told me.” She points an animated finger downwards. “My room’s right below this one. Though, they’re moving me soon with a handful of girls.” 

“And Hot Pie?” 

“_Guess_.” 

“The kitchens?” I ask. Arya grins in response. “He’s to bunk with you and a shitload of other men. Or so that’s what I heard Val say.” 

“_Val_?” 

“The lieutenant here.” 

I nod. “_Oh_.” 

I pause again. We’re quiet for a while, doing nothing but holding each other's hands. I think what more to ask her. I would’ve thought I’d have a lot to say to Arya if I survived _this_. But now that I’m alive, and safe, I realize I don’t know what it is that I wanted to tell her. I decide that the best thing might be to leave the chatter for another time. A time when I’m braver, _ and _ softer, whether that time ever comes is a problem for another day.

I sit up and go to grab Arya’s right arm. I pull her towards me. She feels nearly weightless. She follows my lead without so much as a question. She whips off the blanket, and goes to sit on me. She faces me, her knees planted at the sides of my thighs. I wrap my arms around her hips, and reach for her lips with mine. She grabs my face, staring down at me, looking ravenous. Her mouth slightly ajar and her large dangerous eyes looming over me. She leans down and presses our mouths together, it doesn’t take much time until she’s pulling off her clothes. 

… 

I sit back feeling sore, feeling as the loneliness creeps up again. Arya’s angry with me again. _That didn’t last long_. I always have a way of spoiling things. I’m not _nice _and _understanding_ in the way girls like. I mean I try to be, but some things just make sense to me and others don’t. My head’s too hard-boiled. _I don’t know_. There’s no justification for what I did, maybe I just wanted to claim her for myself, wanted something that belonged to _us_, and _me_. I couldn’t form it into words so I formed it into action and found that’s not what Arya wanted … at least not from me, at least not now.

The dim oil-lantern flickers as I close my eyes and think of everything before those damned last minutes … before it all went to shit. I run my fingers over my nose and inhale, her essence still on me. “_Arya_,” I whisper, and suddenly it’s as if she’s there, on me, _ again_. 

… 

It wasn’t anything like the first time. She knew what she was doing, she was a fast-learner that way. Her soft lips were wet and hungry. She pressed them with mine, squirming her tongue inside my mouth gently though seductively. Her fingers roamed into my hair and then onto cheeks, caressing me warmly. Then she grabbed my face to kiss me harder. She was vocal too, moaning and mumbling under her breath, so unlike when we were in the house in the Wolfswood trying not to wake anyone. She had turned partially she-wolf, and even then I could barely keep up. 

She whipped off her shirt with one hard tug, and for a second that shyness had made an appearance again. She blushed, and looked down, all bashful. She was entirely shirtless. She was skinnier under her clothes, her rib cage and collarbones were very visibly noticeable. But even though her breasts were small, they were round, pink, perky, and inviting. I was not sure if I felt dizzy because of Arya, or because of the drugs I had been given for my shoulder. All I knew was that my movements were very limited. I wanted to consume her whole, but I couldn’t. So I leaned in to kiss the top of her stomach, tasting her skin there, and moving up to her breast. 

Her hands clasped behind my neck, much too hard, as she lifted herself forward, allowing me to suckle her breast properly. She moaned, and the room echoed. I would’ve told her to keep quiet, but I didn’t want her to. I moved on to her other tit, the deprived one calling out for my mouth. Arya whimpered again, and began to fuss against my crotch, accentuating the hardness of my cock. I continued to suck on her wet teat, watching as it turned red and swollen. “_That’s so nice, Gendry_,” her breathy soft voice said to me before she went to kiss me again. With her hard nipples poking at my chest, the sweetness of her kisses increased tenfold. 

She planted her palms on my waist above the hospital gown, kissing me harder and harder as she did. Her hands descended down. _ Slowly_, until she reached my thighs. Her mouth tasted of mint and the supper from earlier. She gripped the ends of the gown and pulled it up, struggling a little during the process. I alleviated some of my weight off it, and up it went, to my stomach, exposing my stiff cock to the room. Arya looked down to look at it, and then I was the one who was timid, though I knew I had nothing to be ashamed about, at least not in terms of size. Arya bit her lip.

She moved to the side of the bed, side-eyeing me as she pulled off her pants, but leaving her socks on. She quickly stood back on her knees, making her way back over to me, throwing her right leg over me, so I was placed between her legs again. It hadn’t taken much time for me to notice that she had shaved. _Everything_. _Had she done that for me? _ Her skin was marked with scars and bruises, but was still milky and smooth. She stood over me on her knees, and as she did, I feasted on her naked form. I’d never seen her like this so up close. I ran my fingers over her stomach, descending to her hip bones, and down to her thighs. She shivered. “_That tickles_.” 

Then I moved back up to her navel and lower. And _ lower_. I moved my fingers under her, feeling her folds, so wet and so soft. It felt nice when she trembled. She cowered forward and let out a whimper when I found her sensitive bulb. I rubbed it in circles as she squirmed. She was dripping and moaning much too hard moments later. I could’ve kept going, but instead she grabbed my wrist and pulled my hand away. Our eyes met as she began to lean back down, positioning her hands over my shoulders.

“_Ow_! Careful with the shoulder.” 

“_Sorry_!” She said, gently placing her hands on my waist instead. Her hands felt cold grabbing my cock. Cold, soft, and moist. I nearly grunted, it had felt like so long ago that she first touched me. I watched as she leaned forward, arching her back to align my cock with her cunt. I couldn’t look away. I placed my hands on her sides, aiding her with her balance. And then she began to descend on me, slowly. I grunted as my cock’s sensitive throbbing head slipped in. Arya gasped as she continued to descend on me, getting me deeper and deeper inside her. Her walls were pulsating and tightening against me. I threw my head back, my neck feeling strained and raw. I closed my eyes. She felt just as snug as the first time. The sound that came out of my mouth wasn’t human. Arya whimpered when I was finally fully inside her. She brought her palms to my chest now, and moved with subtle movements, up and down. It was probably _all_ she could do. 

“_Is that alright_?” She asked panting, sweat was moving down from her forehead to her red cheeks. Strands of dark brown were stuck to her face. She was biting her bottom lip as she fucked me, and after a while she closed her eyes.

“_So pretty._” It slipped out in a huff.

“_What_?” She asked out of breath, continuing to move up and down against my cock, so willful and determined. Her face was scrunched up, almost looking as if she was in pain, but I thought nothing of it. Sometimes girls looked like that when they felt pleasure. Or so I had seen. 

“_Nothing_.” I responded, moving my hands down to the sides of her thighs. 

“_Tell me when I should stop_.” She began to move faster now, and her words came out broken through her little hops. _“Like ... be ... fore_.” She panted. 

I nodded. From the look of her tits bouncing, to the erotic pained look on her face, and the feel of her drenched cunt, it didn’t take much long until I needed to come. It felt _ so good_. _ Too good_. And my judgment was fogged. Instead of telling her to stop, like I should’ve, I went to grab her thighs instead. Arya stopped as she felt my cock twitch inside her. I grunted hard, and without warning, I came spilling inside her, the deed tensing up my muscles. I huffed and my breath caught her chest. I laid my head on her chest, trying to catch my breath. She was frozen above me, with me still inside her, blissfully softening. I wrapped my arms around her hoping it was okay, that she’d tell me she didn’t mind. That we were a family anyway and it wouldn’t make any difference. 

“Gendry?” She asked, confused. “Did you just-?” 

“_Sorry_.” That’s what I said. _ Sorry_.


	10. Winter’s Hearsay

Val

I’ve never been so pathetic before in my life. I’ve always known my worth, always stuck my head out of trivial matters, even during the times I could afford to entertain them. “_The most beautiful girl in the North_,” I had heard it a hundred times before. Though it was nice, I knew I needed to be more than that. I thought love would come easy to me, at least easier than it came to most people. At least that’s what my sister told me once. I suppose she thought I could have whoever I wanted. But keeping people wasn’t the same as having them. That was entirely another matter. 

I sit on the bench seat, with my hands folded over my chest, wondering if Jon ever loved me. He picks at his eggs as the cafeteria fills with the people of The Black Union. Soldiers, nurses, teachers, and all the rest. It’s loud and the chattering from neighboring tables grows and grows. Some people greet him, but he hardly acknowledges them. Pyp and Grenn find us quickly, sitting in front of us. Jon sighs at their presence. They fail to read the tension at the table. Jon and I’s uncomfortable silence is broken by the sounds of their nonsensical chattering. 

Pyp and Grenn are going off about the festivities that are to take place later. Well, as Grenn speaks enthusiastically, Pyp listens, all bashful. Pyp’s eyes lock with mine for a second before he looks away rather quickly. It wasn’t often that Jon and I would allow festivities, but Melisandre, the supreme leader’s personal Wood Witch, insisted. With our surplus of resources, it couldn’t hurt much, and besides, it would be nice to have a drink, or two. 

It doesn’t take much time until the cafeteria starts to fill. The volume of the chatter slowly increases. Jon looks over to the boys, his eyes uninterested as he half-listens to their chatter. A brown strand of hair falls over his face as his attention splits to Grenn and Pyp and feeding Ghost his breakfast from under the table. He doesn’t even notice when Samwell arrives. He sits right in front of him, waving sweetly at everyone while neatly placing his tray in front of him. 

“Hi, Sam.” 

“_Hello_.” 

Jon’s eyes dart up for a second. He only nods at Sam, and then, once again, his attention is lost again, seemingly on Ghost. I feel I have an idea as to why he’s acting so strange, but of course, I couldn’t be sure. With lockdown in full swing, and Winter in motion, it was only natural for the people of The Black Union to begin their gossiping. 

Last winter, the most tantalizing of the whispers involved The Heddle sisters. On how they’d sneak off during curfew, often together, and pay the guards with sexual favors of sorts, only so they could sneak into some of the men’s rooms and … _ well _ … _ pick a couple to fuck_. I wasn’t one for gossip, and I doubted the rumors of the Heddle sisters were true. It was more than likely that the rumors were brought to light by the deprived men of The Black Union. It wasn’t odd for men to have fantasies, and the Heddle sisters were very pretty, it was only natural. Besides, they were nice enough girls, especially the younger one, Willow. 

Another whisper involved a soldier named Gared, who was suspected to have been stealing and abusing bottle after bottle of Milk of The Poppy to _ dull _ his senses. Well, that rumor ended up being true. He had nicked Jon’s master key, and forged his own and everything. Gared was known to have problems, to say the least, his family having been taken by the Virus and all. It was rather sad, but Gared wasn’t the only one who knew loss, and he should’ve handled it better. He was exiled, he _ had _ to be. And after that, Jon and I began to prioritize inventory, something we hadn’t been so keen on before Gared. 

The rumor sparking up the walls of The Black Union now isn’t so bad. At least I didn’t think so, but it was about Arya, Jon’s sister-cousin, so it was only natural that it would bother him more than the other. Word is that a couple of nurses, assisting Arya’s friend Gendry in the night shift, heard some “funny” sounds coming from his room. They said they hadn’t seen who it was that went in there with him, but that a little later a guard had seen Arya, gray wolf-dog and all, roaming the halls past curfew. 

It wasn’t strange that people broke curfew, and it wasn’t strange that Arya would be having sex with a man she had spent the last five years or so on the road with. She’s a young woman. It would’ve been stranger if they weren’t having relations. But the bored people of this organization were avid in trying to make anything into a scandal. It’s all so trivial.

Grenn and Pyp continue to ramble as Sam politely slips in a word or two. Their conversations move to the subject of delicacies. 

I watch Jon as he sits up at once, his eyes going to the end of the cafeteria. He plops his clean tray on top of the table, not averting his eyes. I look in the direction he’s looking, and see nothing but the filled up tables of familiar faces. I find some of those familiar faces looking in the same direction as me, and a second later, _ she _ comes into view. 

Arya is thin, petite and soft-eyed, though from what Jon has told me of her, and based on everything I’ve heard of _ The Wolf Pack_, she’s nothing short of fierce. She paces fast towards the table, as Jon slides in closer to me to give her room to sit. He accidentally hits my breast with his elbow. I flinch, waiting for the pang of pain to subdue. In the meanwhile, he turns all his attention towards me, and grabs my left arm delicately. “I’m sorry,” he says gently. His gray eyes are nothing short of genuine. “Are you alright?” 

I nod as my stomach fills with butterflies. He caresses my arm briefly before turning his attention back to Arya, who’s already sitting beside him, her wolf wagging away to her right, Ghost eagerly going to greet her. It would’ve been so much easier if he weren’t so easy to love. 

Instantly her attention glues onto the boys as they blabber, watching her, one would swear that the subject at hand is actually exciting. It isn’t. I look around the room and notice eyes catching our table, it’s a subtle catch at first, but after a few moments I notice they’re looking at her. Not all at once, but it’s one here, then one there, then two all the way over there. She doesn’t notice, only continues to listen in on Grenn, Pyp, and Sam. She enthusiastically butts into their conversation, so naturally, like she’s made for making friends. 

“In the capital they’d make smoked pig, that melted in your mouth and left a sweetness lingering in your mouth. And lemon cakes! Heaps of them. I’d do _ anything _ for a lemon cake now.” 

“_Anything_?” Grenn asks with a giggle, Pyp already rolling his eyes.

Jon’s leg vibrates against mine as he goes to kick Grenn under the table, hard. “Ow!” He shouts so loudly that it attracts even more eyes to the table. Jon only looks away, acting as if he didn’t do anything. 

“_Oh_?” Arya says, looking to Jon. At first I think she’s confused because of Grenn crying out, but it doesn’t take long to notice that she’s noticed some of the eyes on her. I see her eyes watching around, curiously. Jon’s eyes read the room. His glimpses are cold and menacing. Arya chews on her lip, and then turns to Jon. “Have I got something on my face or something?”

“No.” He states bluntly without even looking at her. He stands from the bench at once, grabbing Arya’s arm in the process. She stands after him, confused. He’s tense, and when he stands the curious glances halt at once, everyone suddenly averting their attention to matters that concern them. Jon climbs out of the bench, and Arya does the same, making sure to pick up her full tray with her. She waves us all away quickly. None of us have the chance to wave back before Jon is pushing her gently forward, his hand tenderly planted on the small of her back. I feel my face burn up with jealousy, from my peripheral, I see the wolves following suit. It’s so stupid, me being jealous of Arya of all people. 

She isn’t the prettiest of girls, though not homely either. But still it was stupid to compare myself to her, especially considering I was ten years her senior, and she was Jon’s cousin. _ Besides_, these adolescent-natured games of comparison were never my taste. Jon and I had fallen out of love long ago, if I could even _ call _ it love on his part. Before me, he had been with another girl, a homely one, with fire for hair. Some people said he had loved her, but he never said as much. Not that Jon spoke about anything _ too _ intimately with me. But that’s alright, perhaps we worked better as partners than we did lovers. 

The chatter around the cafeteria begins to pick up at once as Jon and Arya disappear from the scene. Jon never got jealous, at least not when it came to men coming onto me. Jealousy is an ugly thing, but it would have been nice to know that he cared, at least a little. But alas, I have no reason to feel sorry for myself, there were plenty of beautiful and good men that wanted me, and who made it clear. 

And then, just like that, an obnoxious soldier named Jeren comes prancing onto the table before I have the opportunity to flee. It was often that he’d ensue his pathetic attempts of romancing me when Jon was absent. “_Val! Love of my life! The sunshine that lights my dark world!_” I never knew if he was entirely serious or not, but based on the way Pypar rolls his eyes, I think Jeren _ must _ be now. The man leans on me, as he places himself next to me on the bench. I only roll my eyes, and shove him away. Pyp sniggers. I grab my tray, taking my leave without spewing any half-hearted good-byes to anyone. 

  
  


Jon 

I lay awake in bed, the commotion from outside echoing through the halls. I suppose the festivities have just begun. Already I know it’s going to be a long night. The sounds of loud instruments, and shouting people echo through the halls. My room vibrates with the sounds. It’s cold here, and lonely _ and _ a right mess. Ghost is nowhere to be seen, and my guns are unloaded and scattered around the floor, as is my gear; a bulletproof vest, a leather jacket, leather gloves, cargo pants, and snowfoil work boots. I won’t have to wear any of it for the rest of the season, though my skin-tight thermal shirt stays on. I sigh with relief as I hug my body, a weightlessness flows through it. _ Another year is almost gone_. 

I consider joining the _ splendid _ affair, Pyp and Grenn made it seem appealing enough. But I find myself in one of _ those _ moods. I tell myself nothing has triggered it, that this sort of melancholy always catches up with me in the colder months, but that might’ve not been the whole truth of it. I couldn’t stop thinking about those cursed vaccines, couldn’t stop thinking about _ Stannis_, _ The Red Woman_, and _ Shireen_, and I especially couldn’t keep my thoughts off Arya. I’m supposed to take care of her, that is all I was meant to do, but instead I’ve led her to a place that’s a danger to her. 

“_That witch_,” the words slipped out as my thoughts went back to Stannis and Melisandre, back to a couple of days ago when I spoke to them again. This time his right-hand man Davos had come alone too. Val was with me, but she wasn’t speaking to me. She deliberately avoided my eyes and my questions. It was a shame, she looked really pretty too, with her long golden hair down, and her tight black shirt accentuating her breasts and exposing some of her stomach. I knew she knew what she was doing, a pity the state of my worry made me a poor participant in her little game of seduction. 

“With less people going off on raids and getting themselves killed, there will be more people to tend to the respective hospital and research units. More people to educate, and more people _ to be _ educated.” Stannis had said after dedicating the first couple of hours speaking of the state of all the resources and plans that will be initiated come Spring. 

“That’s correct.” I responded. We were sitting in a cramped empty room, nothing inside except a long table and some chairs. The room was frigid, so cold that our breath vapors caught in the air like smoke. I wanted to go, these talks with Stannis were never too pleasant. He wanted something, and in a strange way, he wanted me to want it too. The man wasn’t so unpleasant. He was stern, unyielding, and a bit of a zealot, but he was fair enough for a future leader. The same couldn’t be said of his drunk of an older brother. 

“I would like to know that my daughter’s condition is not being wasted. That her misfortune is not for nothing. I want to know that your medical team is doing all in their power to help her _ and _ the state of our world. This is not about titles. It is not about ruling the seven kingdoms, nor power. It’s about a cure, commander Snow. About curing this cursed planet. Everything else comes after.” 

Stannis could be awfully intimidating, very tall, as Baratheons almost always were. His deep dark blue eyes, intimidating and hard. His dark beard was almost entirely gray, and what remained of his hair was jet black with remnants of gray on it. He was a hardened man, inside and out. 

“Now that your cousin is with you, I trust that you will take matters around here more seriously.” 

“_Of course_.” I said feeling targeted. “The physician Aemon is old, but he’s taken Pylos and Sam under his wing. I’ve never met brighter men than them. Shireen is in good hands. _ Westeros _ … is in good hands, the best.” I looked over to Val, and though she tried to hide it, I noticed how she was shivering. Goosebumps marked her naked arm. I removed my jacket, as my eyes fell to Melisandre. She was staring at me, a small smile forming on her lips. 

I stood and stepped towards Val. I draped the jacket over Val’s shoulders. She barely looked at me, only side-eyed me briefly as Stannis and Melisandre shared a couple words quietly amongst each other. Davos had coughed, as if he wanted to use the silence to finally have his turn to speak. Val hugged the leather jacket with her arms crossed. I noticed her blush when I sat back down and directed my attention to the gentle man. 

“_Shireen _ … I know no war has ever been won without sacrifice, but … she’s only a girl. She needs friends, not just books. She’s a person. Not some human experiment-” 

“-Davos,” Stannis had interjected. “She’s _ my _ daughter. Have you forgotten?” Stannis stood at once, his chair scraping loudly behind him. He towered over us all. “It would do us all good if you would not patronize her. She wants to help. _ This _ is her way of helping. She’s a doer, not a talker. And I hope for the world’s sake, most of us _ here_,” his eyes fell to me, almost threatening, “are doers.” 

With that, Stannis had taken his leave. I watched as he clenched his gloved hands and went to the exit. The steel door grinded on the floor as he pushed it open. Davos had sighed, and looked at me, a dismal expression on his face. He rubbed his face with his hands, one fingerless, and one whole. He sighed before standing to take his leave. Val stood up after him and finally looked over to me. Melisandre was still seated with her hands folded, her red eyes fell to the dark wood under her. “_ Commander_,” Davos said as he took his leave. I nodded and watched him defeatingly walk away. 

Val looked at Melisandre suspiciously, almost as if she was waiting for her to leave. I went to leave, thinking I should leave the woman to her thoughts, but before I was standing she finally spoke. “Commander, I wanted to speak with you. _ Alone_.” 

I looked over to Val as her mouth twisted. I knew she would get the wrong idea. I nodded, and as I did Melisandre shifted in her seat and leaned forward. She was facing me on the other side of the table. Val took off my jacket and dropped it on my lap before walking off without so much as one word. I watched as her golden hair, and hips moved from side to side as she strode off. She seemed more disappointed than angry, but she was a proud woman, and she had made it clear that she was not happy. 

When the door closed behind her, I turned to Melisandre as she went to stand. She made her way to my side of the table. Everything she wore was a deep red and skin-tight. Her breasts were large, and her unnaturally-narrow waist only made them look bigger. She wore a long-sleeved dress, with golden bracelets hanging over her wrists, and a glimmering choker-necklace around her neck. Her copper hair nearly reached her hips, and it was thick and silky. While many found the woman beautiful, I found her nothing but peculiar and abrasive in both personality and appearance. 

She grabbed the chair Val was sitting on and moved it close to mine.

Her red eyes caught mine as she leaned forward on her chair. She grabbed my hand, and her fingers felt hot against my skin. Not warm but hot. “You’re tense,” she said as she stroked my right hand, and massaged it with her thumbs.

“Does Stannis know of Arya? Of-”

“-Of course not, commander. I would not betray your trust.” 

“But you’d betray your supreme leader’s trust? That doesn’t make any sense.” 

She only half-smiled. I shook my head, becoming frustrated with her vague communication. I was sick of playing these games, with Val, with her, with everyone. “How is that you’ve come to know that you know?” I asked, my voice picking up fire. “And what is it that you want?” 

She didn’t answer, only leaned back gracefully, crossed her legs, and took my hand onto her lap. “What is it that _ you _ want, commander?” She asked, studying my face. “You have your cousin back and still your heart’s conflicted.” 

I shook my head and ripped my hand away from her grip. 

“Stop acting like you know me. Like you know anything about my heart.” 

“You’re not so hard to read.” She said before leaning in close, our faces were just inches apart. It felt like she had put me in some trance as she attempted to read me, to look inside me somehow. From outside the room, I could hear Ghost scratching at the door. I felt a little afraid suddenly. Perhaps her God was real, it would’ve explained a lot, surely. “_Tense_. _ Strained_. _ Conflicted _ .And … _ afraid_.” 

“It just seems … if it’s not one thing it’s another.” I responded dully. 

She grinned as she placed her hot palm on my left cheek. “Everything will work out fine, commander. The sun will set on us _ all _ once more. Everything you want, you’ll have, in perhaps not the way you’d expect.” Her thumb circled my cheek gently.

“What does that mean? What is it that I want?” I asked. 

She pulled her hand away and shrugged. I pulled away and shook my head as if to shake off the odd sensation that had previously possessed me. 

“You must figure that out on your own. In the meantime … tell your cousin how you feel. Confront her. Talk to her. You will feel a great deal better, a great deal less alone.” With one last grimace she stood. I did not watch her leave but I could hear her steps as she reached the metal door to exit. 

“I don’t want to burden her.” The words slipped out. I wasn’t meant to ever trouble her, I was supposed to do the opposite. Especially now that father was gone, _ and _ her mother, _ and _ Robb.

“I am certain that she would not see it as a burden.” I heard the door grind as it opened. “Learn to indulge, Commander. You’ve more than earned it.” 

“_Huh_?” She was gone before I turned. Ghost ran inside as the door swung open. It shortly slammed to a close with us still inside. The room felt strangely colder the second she was gone. 

…

I decided to roam the halls in pursuit of Ghost. But the search for him had become tedious, quite quickly. The space echoed with the sounds of half-drunk citizens hiding from their respective scenes, surely looking for more intimate places to lounge. I could feel the festive vibrations from the floor beneath me. A young couple ran past me in the hall. They greeted me, their hands intertwined. They were nearly breathless as they laughed. I couldn't place their names, but they were young, and friendly, with Southern features. I turned to watch them disappear around the corner, their boots squeaked against the tile. 

My mind lingered as I walked. I thought of Melisandre’s words. “_Learn to indulge_.” I wondered what she meant by that. The idea of indulging wasn’t a sound one, not at a time like this. Val and Stannis surely agreed. I was meant to be a leader first and foremost. A few years ago, the prospect of becoming commander was so alluring. I thought, for once, I’d have some kind of power, some kind of say, for once, I thought something could belong to me. But being Commander wasn’t anything like that. In times like this, I find myself yearning for Winterfell, for a place that could truly be _ mine_. _ Mine and Arya’s too_. _ Ours_. 

“Ghost!” I called out one last time, my voice echoed through the long dimly-lit halls. I turned to return to my room. I passed by room after room. It was the men’s floor, or at least one of them. As I walked the halls, the smell of peroxide was as strong as ever, though it was mixed with the aroma of fresh bread, the hot radiator air, and alcohol. Alcohol. It had been a while since I last drank, the thought pops into my mind. _ Learn to indulge. _ I find a group of four adolescent boys standing against the corner with bottles of wine in their hands. They speak amongst each other and become startled when our eyes meet.

“_Commander_.” They said nervously, and uncoordinatedly. I only smiled and asked them if I could borrow a couple of bottles. Sighing, the smallest of them conjured up two bottles from the corner and passed them to me. I thanked him. His name was Albett, Albett the little builder, I remembered suddenly. As I went to walk away they all said some tense goodbyes. I strode off with both the bottles of wine in my right hand. From the stance I could hear them laugh about something. “Thank the Gods, it wasn’t Val,” I think I heard. I shook my head and smiled.

_ To be a child again_, I thought. It felt like an eternity ago when that had been me, Robb, and Theon. We’d hide spirits, bottles of Arbor wine, and trays of cakes under our shirts and run back to Robb’s room. We’d be careful not to be seen by Mordane, Rodrick, or Catelyn, or father. We’d get sick of alcohol and sugar, and throw the evidence out the window. The physician Luwin would know what was wrong, but tell father it was only a flu we’d all caught suddenly. The world felt so normal then. Inside the walls of Winterfell, it never felt like a war zone. I never appreciated my home, I only whined and moped about being an ousted bastard. Thinking back, perhaps that wasn’t _ so _ bad. 

…

It doesn’t take much long for me to become drunk. I hadn’t eaten much today thanks to the current subject of The Black Union’s gossip. I try not to think about it much. It could’ve been a lie. Rumors of Arya, and her pack, used to spread before she had even gotten here. _ A royal gone entirely feral_. It was nothing but a good story. I suppose people just needed their stories in order to keep their minds occupied. But their stories were never much to my liking. I preferred the ones about fire-breathing dragons, godly warriors, and glory. 

I undress again, this time removing both my pants and thermal. The room becomes hot all of a sudden. I lay upon the seemingly crowded bed. My hot covers sloppily over the bed. I feel the cold copper of my gun’s bullet against my back. I sigh. It takes a lot out of me to lift my weight off it, and throw it across the room. I’m drunker than I thought. My fingers close around the wine bottle, and bring it to my lips. The last few drops stream down my neck, and send a chill down my spine. The bloatedness and the grogginess hit me like a ton of bricks. I can’t hear the music any longer, and the vibrations rattle my bed. It feels nice. _ Finally _ ... I think. _ Some sleep_. 

The door remains unlocked, just hardly ajar, for if Ghost showed himself all he would need to do was push the door open. I allow myself to pass out. 

…

_ The smell of trees and fresh prey linger in the air. As does the smell of my current shelter. There’s a gray wolf beside me, already my own. She’s smaller, but fiercer. She feels as uneasy as I do. She nudges me while I nip at her and lick at her face. Her aroma alone keeps me inside and close to her at all times. Everything feels much too warm. I long for the brisk Winter breeze, and the moonlight. I long for a familiar scent, the scent of my other-half, but something keeps pulling me back. That stench of melancholy ... I stand carefully behind the door, hearing voices, taking in all the familiarity. My gray wolf does the same. She sits on her haunches waiting for the approaching footsteps to reach her. She howls with impatience. _

_ And then out comes the girl, her smell piercing though enticing. She slams the door behind her, stomping down the dark narrow hall. My wolf and I follow with excitement. Her steps are heavy and fast, though it’s easy to keep up with her. She turns a darker and empty corner with nothing but a wall ahead. In the short secluded hall she leans her back against the stonewall. Her body sliding down slowly until she’s sitting on the cold tile with her knees pulled in. My wolf goes to her side, and places her head on her lap. The girl cries. Her face becomes swollen, wet, and red. I walk forward and lick the salty water off her cheeks. She sinks her fingers into my fur, and holds me, as she continues to cry onto me. _

… 

“_Jon_?” I hear a voice. A girl's voice calling out. She sounds … _sweet_. _The stench of melancholy lingers still_. “_Jon?_ _Can you hear me?”_ I slowly begin to open my eyes. I feel _heaviness_, feel how it pushes into my chest. It’s hard for my eyelids to open completely. Through the blur, I see the girl above me tilt her head. I squint trying to distinguish her face. I feel the softness of her moist hand cupping my cheek. I see the gray of her eyes before my vision has the opportunity to clear up. I know it’s _her_ at once.

“Arya!?” I sit up abruptly, grabbing her face, an anxiety overtaking me all of a sudden. The visions of her red crying face returning to me. It felt too real to have only been a dream. “Are you okay!?” 

“_Yes_.” She responds as she places a reassuring hand on my shoulder. Her face isn’t red and swollen anymore, but her cheeks look rosy and vibrant still. “Don’t worry about me. You were passed out. I tried to wake you half a dozen times.” She sounds flustered. I frown feeling stupid for worrying her in the slightest. 

“I‘m sorry.” I say. I let go, feeling a great sadness I can’t explain. I rub my eyes, attempting to catch a grip. The room spins around me as my eyes close. I don’t know how many hours it’s been since I went to sleep, but the commotion has already died down, though the building is not as quiet as it ought be this late into the night. 

“_How _ drunk are you?”

“Just a little.” I respond as her eyes go to the empty bottle on the bed. I notice that Ghost and Nymeria are in the room too, they stand over the bed panting. Nymeria presents me with her paw as Ghost patiently waits for me to run my fingers through his fur. I catch myself smiling at both of them. “Thanks for bringing Ghost back.” I say as I slide off the bed, and into the floor to greet them, my head pounding all throughout. My vision blurs with white and gray as my hands stroke their soft fur simultaneously. I lean back on the bed, feeling the warmth of their licks on my hands and face. 

“He brought me to you, actually.” 

“Did he?” 

Arya nods, a hint of a smile on her face. She sits at the edge of the bed with her legs folded. She’s in a tight undershirt, and comfortable roomy black pants. She watches the wolves, watches how they playfully fight for my attention. “Did you ask him to?” 

“I don’t know. Not on purpose but-” I stand up, losing my balance for a second, but quickly recovering. I sit close to Arya on the bed, actively fighting my drunkenness, and ignoring the sensation of wine making its way back up my gullet. I picked a bad time to drink, I realize that now. “I really want us to talk. Like we used to. _Or_ not like we used to_._ _Anything_ is good.” I grab her left hand, and she turns to face me. Her eyes widen at the gesture, and I suddenly remember I’m half-naked. 

Arya’s gray eyes drop down. She twists her mouth in thought. Thinking about it, considering it. “It’s probably too late. I think Val is sending people off to-” 

“I’ll make an exception.” I smile. “She’s not the boss of me, you know ...”

Arya smiles as brightly as a sun. She looks down, as if she's a little embarrassed. She begins to fumble with her fingers, a strand of wavy brown hair falling over her face. Nymeria and Ghost finally relax. I notice how they lay down on the floor next to one another, with Nymeria slumping her head over Ghost’s body. I feel Arya’s eyes studying me, but I pretend not to notice. 

“Is Val like,” she tilts her head curiously. “… _your_ _girlfriend_?” 

“No. Not exactly.” I answer it much too quickly, and much too lively. 

“_Oh_.” 

“Am I talking too loud?” 

“A bit,” Arya says with a slight giggle.

“The bull … is he ... _your _ Boyfriend?” I don’t know what comes over me to ask her that question, but the anticipation of her response builds up in the pit of my stomach instantly. 

Arya looks away. Like she’s uncomfortable all of a sudden, or feels ashamed somehow. I could feel it. She avoids my eyes in a manner that makes me feel as if she’s hiding something, something about Gendry. “_Why_? Have you been talking to Hot Pie?” Arya deflects. I feel my heart drop. Just like that, she had confirmed _ those _ rumors to me. Suddenly, I regret even having asked. 

“No.” 

“Have you … _ heard _ anything?” 

“No.” I answer stupidly. “I don't think I have.”

“Never mind.” Arya says as she looks down, her attention elsewhere. She begins to play with her fingers again, and faces downcast, looking as if she’s deep in thought. I watch her. Her short hair is uneven, and messy, though charming. Her neck is long and graceful, and around it is a golden necklace with a pendant of half a heart. Her skin is smooth, though pink fading scars mark the skin around her collarbones and shoulder blades. They suit her well, making her even more interesting to look at and dissect. Her lips are small but plump. I watch as she wets them, before going to speak again. When her eyes meet with mine, I become startled. 

“It’s … _ complicated._” She finally answers. I frown when she frowns. 

“Well, I know all about complicated.” I want her to stay. I want to hear her voice. To learn more about the woman she’s become. To know about the things she’s endured. But she only shakes her head, and bites the inside of her cheek. 

“_Jon_ ... you’re drunk.” 

“I’m not _ that _ drunk.” I say whilst burping. My body couldn’t have picked a worse time to react the way it did. I belch again, covering my hand over my mouth and swallowing down any vile that tries to make its way up my throat. 

Arya brings her hands to my bare shoulders, her fingers feel cold and warm at the same time. “That’s enough for today,” she says as she pushes onto me, gently. I slowly descend backwards back into bed. I watch her from above me, frozen. She walks around the bed, and grabs the gun, bottle of wine, and clothes. 

I lean up on my elbows. “_Arya _ … _ honestly …_” She strides back in my direction to place all the contents on the nightstand. With one quick movement, she shoves me back on the bed. I fall backwards. I feel as she goes to tug out the blankets from beneath me, swiftly bringing it over me. I spy a little smile growing on her face. 

Her contagious smile infects me, as it always has and always will. “Arya …” I call out as she brings the blanket over my neck. I whip off the covers, the heat from it too intense. She turns to walk away, but I grab her wrist before she can go. She turns her head as my grip tightens around her. I try to find something to say, something that would make her stay. “I’m truly not _ that _ drunk.” 

“_Stupid _ … Just go to sleep, will you?” She says tugging her arm away, her smile wider now. 

“_Don’t go_.” I say all too seriously.

Her smile slowly fades at that. “I promise I’ll come back tomorrow. That is, if you promise you’ll be sober.” 

“I promise.” I say. She nods knowing that I meant it. That’s when I slowly start letting go, perhaps a bit too reluctant still. My fingertips graze her skin as she turns to leave. 

She gestures for Nymeria. Nymeria side eyes her and whines. “_Nymeria_.” Arya calls out, her voice powerful and demanding. I shiver. Nymeria stands while whining, Ghost watching her as she goes to follow Arya. Arya sighs. She turns and looks at me one last time before disappearing behind the door. “Goodnight,” she says sweetly. 

I’m too distracted, too lost in thought to respond. She’s not the little girl I left in Winterfell anymore. When she disappears behind the door, I sink back into bed. My thoughts rush back to _ those _ rumors again. “_Please no_.” The visions come in in vivid flashes like a nightmare I can’t wake up from. Suddenly, I could see it, _all of it_, so clearly now. Her aroused face. His strong arms around her. Her mounting him, as he slid inside her. Him fucking her as she woke up the entire unit with her enthusiasm. I flip over to my side, crushing my skull with my pillow. “_Damn it to all hells_ …” I belch and taste the sickness in my mouth. 

_ The wine finally comes back up. All of it. _

  
  



	11. Pure Remnants

Gendry

I lay awake, unaware if it’s morning or evening. The smell of rubbing alcohol fills my nostrils. I feel well-rested enough. There's a lingering smell of food that enters into the room through the cracks. That means it's morning. I sit up and feel my head begin to pound. Before, I can help it, I'm already thinking about Arya. No matter how hard I try, she's _always_ there. I want to apologize to her, or at least try to, but she insists she doesn't want to speak to me. Not even through Hot Pie. 

Arya _had_ tried to make everything alright, but I had a tendency to make things harder than they needed to be. She came into my room, a couple of days after I ... _spilled _ inside of her. The nurse, the bossy young woman with brown hair and brown eyes, had put a stop to my dosage of Milk of The Poppy. She’d said, _ “I’m afraid you’ll have to do the next part on your own._” So my thoughts became clearer, but my head pounded with migraine after migraine, and my entire left-arm ached, and still aches, from shoulder to fingertips. The young nurse, even then, tried to keep on with the dull conversations, but I only answered with dry one-worded responses, not at all interested in her endeavors of phony politeness. 

Arya had come in shortly after that, calm and disoriented. I could hear the muffled sounds of music that played from the lower floors. They were having some sort of festivity. The ground felt like it was vibrating. Her arrival hadn’t helped my peace, though I knew as soon as she came in, I didn’t want her to leave. But I knew it wouldn't be long before we were at each other's throats again. 

Arya spoke to Nymeria from behind the door, telling the wolfdog to “_wait there with Ghost_.” I watched her as she turned and looked around the room. She wouldn't look me in the eye for long. In fact, she had a pout on, and her arms were folded against her chest. Her body language belonged to confrontational-Arya, and my raging headache wanted none of it. I rolled my eyes as she approached me slowly. 

She looked stiff as she plopped down on the bed beside me, not facing me. I rubbed my face with my hands and sighed. Frustration had already started building inside my body, as it so often did. I tried hard to tame it, to not say anything the _ wrong _ way, but I knew she was angry already, so it was in my best interest to tread lightly. I swallowed back my fire. “_Arya_. How many times do you want me to apologize?” 

She gave a short gasp and turned towards me sharply. I tuned out as she began to speak willfully. She looked nice, nicer than she did the night we were together again. Her face, slowly recovering from all the malnutrition from the prior years, looked lively and fuller. It made her look soft, despite her scowl. The dark clothes she wore made her dark gray eyes look lighter, and more intense. She pinched me when she realized I hadn’t been listening to what she was saying. 

“What?” I asked

“_I said, _I’m worried!” She shouted as she swallowed hard. I only shook my head, moving aside, giving her room to accommodate next to me better. Her face softened as I did. She moved on closer to me, and brought her legs over the bed. A strange shout came from behind the door, as another resident of the Black Union felt terrorized by the wolfdogs' presence. The sound of footsteps speeding away followed that. Arya and I looked at one another and chuckled. I felt warmth instead of heat for a brief moment, though I knew it probably wouldn’t last. 

“_Gendry ..._” She said after a while. “I know it’s far too early to tell _ but _-”

“_But what_?” I asked much too aggressively. 

“I mean what if ... _ I_, _ you know_.” 

“No, I don't know. Use your words, Arya,” I said, my voice was rising already. 

Her face turned red. “Stop being stupid. You know what I mean.” Her tone had risen too, following mine. 

“What, Arya? _ What? _ What’s the worst that can happen?” I gestured around the room and then to my shoulder. “Have you looked around? We’re safe. And _ absurdly _ lucky. Would it really be so bad if you-”

“-What!?” She interrupted, louder than ever. Even among the noise, and the music, anyone passing by the room would surely have been able to hear her. 

“I mean ... didn’t you always think we _would_ … _one_ _day_. It’s not like there are many people left to choose from.” 

I watched as Arya shook her head in disbelief and scoffed. “How romantic!” She spat as she began to inch away from me. She sat up at once, and swung her feet back down to the floor. Things had begun to escalate sooner than I expected. 

“With the limited amount of people and all.” I said in a lousy attempt to soothe things. 

“I got it, Gendry!” She snapped. Her anger only fed my own. But I felt something that was more than mere anger. I felt pitiful. 

“No, I’m not _ romantic _ but neither are you. I mean we’ve never had the luxury to be … _ but _ … it’s always been _ us_, hasn’t it?” _ Absurdly pitiful_. 

Arya hadn’t responded to that. She only stood as she studied my face. I must have looked so pathetic to her. She brought her closed fist to her chest. She looked startled, confused almost. She looked as if she was about to say something, but didn’t. Her mouth remained slightly open as I continued to worsen the situation. There was a long pause. “_Even _ Weasel used to tell Hot Pie …”

It was hard to continue. It was better when I didn’t speak. 

Arya winced at the sound of the little girl’s name. She looked down at the floor, swallowed down hard, then met my eyes once more, acting as if it hadn't phased her. “Finish your thought,” She said bravely, her voice trembling. 

“... _ That _ she saw _ us _ as her ... _ mother _ and _ father_.” 

Arya’s face looked almost disgusted. “And that means ... I should have a child? _ Now_? _Here?"_

I shrugged, feeling defeated. “Well, you’d certainly be good at it.” 

“Good at it!?” She snapped again. “If I looked after her properly, Weasel would still be alive! I’d be a useless mother!” Suddenly, she was furious. She turned and faced the wall, with her back to me. Her breath was short. 

I wanted to say something but couldn’t think what to say that wouldn’t make matters worse. I only let her have her space. She exhaled and began to compose herself. I felt a pang of pain re-enter my shoulder. The aching worsened the more I tensed up. 

“_Arya,_ I didn’t mean to do it, _not_ _really_ … it just happened.”

“_Not really _ ?” She mumbled. She shook her head in what I perceived to be utter annoyance, the thing I had been feeling in that moment too. “That doesn't _ just _ happen, Gendry.” 

“Of course it does.” I spat defensively, her accusatory tone and the sprouting pain from my shoulder, started to fire me up again. “That’s _ exactly _ what it does.”

“You’re so frustrating!” She responded, turning back to face me. Her eyes were red and puffy.

“I was whacked on milk of the poppy, my judgement was skewed. _ Sorry! _ What more can I say or do!?”

“It’s just ... you should’ve asked!”

I sat up and clenched my fists. “Did you not hear what I just said?” I asked as I stood to face her. I walked towards her menacingly, but she was unafraid as I towered over her. I stepped over to her, until we were only inches apart. She held her head up high. “It was an accident. A stupid mistake I’ll never make again. Hear me? _Never_.” It came out as a whisper. My vision had begun to blur suddenly. 

“Fine with me.” She said, with her eyes bright and red. Our breaths clashed with one another’s and then she stomped once, and turned to leave. I watched her storm off, with her fists clenched at her sides. When she reached the door, she gripped the handle, and looked back at me. The wolves whimpered and scratched at the door. “I don’t need you anyway. Jon will help me.” She went to open the door, but within seconds I had been before her again, slamming it shut. 

She made a noise that sounded like something between a growl and a gasp. She faced me, with her back against the door and her hand tightened on the handle. “Let. Go.” She said, as she attempted to open the door. I continued to stubbornly push it closed.

“You’re going to tell your brother?” 

“Of course. I have to. Now let me leave.” 

“_No_, you don’t. You don’t _have_ to.”

“I do too!” 

“Are you mad? He’ll have me kicked out! Exile me in the middle of a winter storm!” Arya continued to fidget with the doorknob. 

She scrunched her face up in frustration. “He will not!” She shouted defensively. 

“Arya, you’re _ being unreasonable_.”

“I am not! You are!” 

“No, _ you _ are. Unreasonable _ and _ confusing _ and _ aggravating. You know what? Do what you want!” I shouted as I finally released the door. It swung open at once. “Just go on, _ fuck off!_”

“Happily!” She spat before shoving me away from her and slamming the door in my face. Several seconds later, I punched a hole through the door. 

_ That was the last time we spoke. _

...

I stare at the door’s cracked wood and massage my knuckles, recalling my most recent fit of rage. I sit up and begin to slip on the black work boots on the bedside. They’re bigger than they should be, and it takes a while to get the laces right. After a couple attempts, the boots become properly snug. I stand and bring the black thermal over my head, being overly cautious with my shoulder. In this all-black attire, I guess I looked like everyone else now. It felt odd to belong to a _ real _ group again, and such a large one at that.

A faint alarm rings from outside. From the initiating commotion, I know it’s time for breakfast. Yesterday was my last day in the hospital unit, or at least that’s what the bossy little nurse had told me. I remember her name all of a sudden: _ Willow_. She told me I’ll be in the resident building, and share a room with at least ten different men. The idea didn’t thrill me, but I wasn’t new to the prospect of sharing a room with a ton of strangers. As long as I have a bed, and food to eat, I’m satisfied. 

The little nurse had also told me someone would come retrieve me, and that they’d assign me to my new quarters _and_ sort me into a job. Though here, jobs were called “duties.” I sit and wait around for a soldier, or a ranger, or a guard, or _whoever_, to come around. Though my stomach begins to growl, and I quickly grow impatient. Since I’m no longer a patient, I’m expected to retrieve my own breakfast going forward. The more my hunger intensifies, the more irritable I grow. I think I’ll run down to the cafeteria and bring up my food. I could be quick enough, probably. But before I can even think to stand, there’s a knock on the door. 

“It’s open.” I say though the door opens before I even come to finish my sentence. 

A man enters the room. I don’t greet him, and he doesn’t greet me, at least not in the _proper_ way. He’s young, around my age. He’s leaner, and not as tall. He’s wearing the same thing as me, except he has a belt with a holster, and inside that holster, a glock. He closes the door behind him. He holds a clipboard in his hand. “You know, you look exactly how I imagined you would.” He said, not even bothering to look up from the board. 

I’m confused for a second, but then our eyes meet. _ Oh_, I think stupidly. It’s _ Jon_. He’s got Arya’s face, or rather, Arya has _his_ face. It’s a bit eerie. I feel as though I’m seeing an older male version of her. His eyes are darker though and his face is far more sharp, and not as ... _ sweet_. And he’s also got scars, faded scars, that mark his face, from his forehead to his cheeks. I feel nervous all of a sudden. _What has Arya told him already? _ I don’t say anything to him. I only shrug. 

Jon looks around and mumbles before turning his attention back to the clipboard. “Alright, so you’ll be on the ground floor of the Resident building. In room 101. Your friend Hot Pie’s there too. Help yourself to whatever bed’s available. And come Spring, you’ll be sorted as a soldier. That means _ going on raids_, _ carrying weapons_, _ cleaning out the area_. _ Killing_. _ Fighting_. It's dangerous work. Is that alright with you?” 

I nod. 

“Good. And you’re good with guns?” 

Good is an understatement, but I only nod again. 

“Arya says you’re better with bombs and traps,” he states, not bothering to ask for my input on the matter. “That’ll still be useful.” He says sounding almost patronizing. “You’ll answer to the Supreme Leader, Stannis. And the lieutenant. Her name is Val. And any _ other _ higher-up. They’ll let you know if they are.” He looks up from his paper, and his stare is hard and unyielding. “Are you fine with taking orders?” 

“Yes.” I answer bluntly. 

“Good to hear.” Jon says. “So in the meantime, I’ll have you stationed at the Eastern checkpoint. It’s boring and lonely during the Winter but necessary. Could you handle a pistol in your condition?” 

“Yes.” 

“Good.” He says _again_. 

I wonder _again_ if he knows about Arya and me. If he knows about what we did. If he could see through me, _ read me_, _ hear my thoughts_. I wonder if he knows of every lewd thought I’ve ever had of his little sister. _ I must be going mad_. I shake off all the irrationality but still I find myself ... _wondering_. I wonder _ how _ close he and Arya really are. 

He nods. Then I nod. There’s an uncomfortable silence between us as he moves backwards to lean on the wall behind him. “Umm. How did-you and Arya come to know each other?” He asks randomly. I turn my attention to him. He stands close to the exit, slumped against the wall. 

I shrug startled at first. My mind tries to recall the first time I’d met Arya. It feels like an infinity ago. I sigh. It’s much too early, and I’m much too hungry to answer questions, but I do it anyway, as briefly as possible. 

“Um. I was a soldier at the Capital too. I don’t know. I was with Lommy and Hot Pie ... we just ran into her and Nymeria while making distance from the _ camo men _and the capital. She almost killed Hot Pie. _Well_, he was hazing her, but she held her own. We stuck around one another after that. And then she said there was a sanctuary at _ Starfall _ and we all decided to go there. We almost died with all the infected there. But she was looking for you. I mean I barely knew her but ... she felt like family ... so we followed her.” 

His expression became miserable. He was looking off into the distance now. “Starfall fell.” He says. “I would’ve stayed. I would’ve waited in the rubble amidst the infestation if I’d known …” Jon closes his hands into tight fists. I look away. It feels weird. I don’t know him, and I can’t, nor will I, show him any sort of comfort. I only look around the room and wait quietly for the tension to pass. 

“It doesn’t matter now,” he says shortly. He shakes his head. “That’s all, really. Go break your fast before all you’re left with is cold porridge.” 

I nod as I stand. He looks down at the floor, sulking. I eagerly go to leave. He doesn’t acknowledge me anymore, only stands in the room, lost in thought. When I open the door to exit, the white wolfdog bolts into the room. It’s bigger than Nymeria and red-eyed. It growls at me momentarily, but I slip out of the door quick enough. I watch as the door closes between us. 

...

I follow the smell of food, a little bit lost. I look around and see a small man in black scrubs look at me. He seems hungry enough. He and a taller girl with glasses walk past me, and move towards a staircase. I decide to follow them. Luckily enough, they take me where I want to go. The second floor is littered with people dressed in black all filing into the cafeteria. I feel eyes on me while I follow the small crowd into the vast room. 

When I’m a mere few feet away from the gray room full of benches, someone bumps into my shoulder. I stop in the middle of the hall. I clutch my shoulder and grunt in pain. If there was someone who _wasn’t_ looking at me, well now they were. I hear unfamiliar voices asking me if I’m alright, but I just brush their pity off and continue on, attempting to walk off the slowly subsiding pain. 

I feel someone’s hard, concentrated stare burn at me all throughout. I’m about to tell whoever it is to _please_ _fuck off_, but when I turn I’m taken back by the sight of two very odd people. It’s a woman in red. She’s tall, and her hair is a deep red, red like blood. She looks at me and smirks. I notice that her eyes are red too, as Red as Jon’s wolf's eyes. Behind her, there’s a tall man, taller than me. He looks almost familiar. He closes in on me quickly, squinting strangely at me. I guess I look familiar to him too. He’s a balding man, bearded, with a hard face. I shake my head confused, continuing to walk away. But he grabs my good shoulder and turns me around. 

The man stares into my face. “_Renly? _” I hear him say. 

I yank away from his grip, maybe much too aggressively, but still deeply irked by his strange gesture. “_Not quite_.” I answer bluntly as I turn away. The odd pair don’t follow me into the cafeteria.

Arya 

The last several days had been eventful enough, and productive, though I found the longer I went without seeing Gendry, the more I thought about him. The girl I had just befriended, the one that lived through the glass, even reminded me of him a little. They were nothing alike in personality though. Some of their mannerisms are similar. And they both have thick jet black hair and icy blue eyes. But besides that, there’s no real reason as to why Shireen has brought him back into my thoughts. It feels like he’s everywhere as of lately, even though I haven’t seen him in _days_. 

I stand at Shireen’s doorway and smile. I wave her at her, and she waves at me. Her room is dimly lit and neat. The girl smiles warmly as she delicately grabs her aluminum tray and plants it on her lap atop her book. She puts a long strand of black hair behind her ear, exposing the infected-side of her face. She shyly picks up her fork and stabs the meat on her tray. She brings it over her mouth, but before she takes a bite, she catches me staring. She smiles again, this time sadly, and I do the same. I go to close the curtains, waving her off one last time before I do. 

… 

I walk the halls of the Hospital Unit as the other stewards, nurses, and assistants file to supper. Some of them pat me on the shoulder. An older woman named Alynne, with red hair, and black eyes, smiles at me brightly and tells me I’ve done well. As does a plump young man, with pale eyes, and dark hair. Jon's friend: _Samwell. _His name is the easiest to remember. Most of the people of the Hospital unit were nice enough. Though Jeyne Heddle, the nurse I’m to be an assistant to, isn’t the easiest person to like. 

Val had assigned me to shadow Jeyne the day her and Jon showed me to my new room. The room was quite vast and bright. On one side, there were three beds lined, and on the other, two. Val told me to set myself up on the empty bed in the corner. She looked beautiful that day. Her golden hair was in a tight bun, and her skin looked perfect, and vibrant. She stood next to Jon, and the sight of them together made me feel sick to my stomach. They were nice on the eyes, _too nice_, standing together like that, so _fierce _ and _ pretty_. I recall shrinking, sitting down at the edge of the bed and hiding my body behind Nymeria’s fur. 

Jeyne followed them inside shortly, she was perhaps a little older than me. She came in frowning, her brown hair picked up into a tight ponytail. Like Val, she’s pleasant-looking, and possesses those_ womanly-curves_. She was in black scrubs, and in her hand she held mine, all neatly folded up. 

Val stood there whispering to Jon. He looked at me as she spoke to him about _ important matters_. He made silly faces at me from time to time, in between their sentences. I tried not to smile at his childishness. I’m not the child that he constantly indulged and teased anymore. Val and Jeyne didn’t notice, or even acknowledge, the secret way Jon and I had been communicating, nor the way we both caressed our wolfdogs, with that same gentle rhythm. 

Val’s booming voice echoed through the room. “I was going to have you steward but you can bind and mend wounds. You’ve had a proper education from physicians? In your estate and the capital? You’re nearly as well-read as Shireen Baratheon, aren't you? If not that, you’re _ at least _more practiced, being alone on the road all those years.” I noticed how Val rarely looked at me when she spoke to me, nor let me respond to anything. 

“_Shireen _?” I asked curiously.

“You’ll meet her. I think you'll be a good enough _nurse_ … _ well_, an assistant, for now.” 

“_Nurse_?” I asked curiously.

"Something wrong?" 

I looked over to Jon, but he only shrugged. "No. Nothing's wrong." 

“_Great_. Jeyne will show you the ropes. Do everything she says, she’s a _ great _ teacher.” 

I nodded again as Jeyne approached me and handed me some scrubs. “I hope they’re not _ too _ big,” she said, as she studied me up and down. 

“I think they’re fine.” I retorted defensively, hoping Jon hadn’t heard her comment. But his comforting smile, and sad eyes told me he had. I felt a pang of embarrassment rush through me. 

“Well, that’s all, really.” Val said as she tucked her clipboard under her armpit. “Just go ahead and change, Lady Stark, and then you guys can take off.” Val turned to leave. I watched as she gestured at Nymeria to Jon. He scratched at his modest growing beard and nodded. She took off behind him. I clutched the rough black material against my chest.

“What _ about _ Nymeria?” I asked Jon when Val disappeared into the bright hall. 

“I’ll stay with Nymeria.” Jon said. 

“But-”

“It’ll be okay, Arya. _ Trust me_.” Jon said it so tenderly. _ Trust me_. His dark eyes softened as he stepped towards me. He was in a black long-sleeve shirt and long dark cargo pants. That time, he had his holster and gun fashioned over his shoulder rather than at his belt. He kneeled in front of me and Nymeria. His brown hair was picked up, but a wild strand fell over his face. He placed a hand on my cheek, stroking it with his thumb. I swallowed hard. He smiled at me before kissing my forehead lightly. "You'll do great." 

“I’ll wait outside,” Jeyne had said suddenly. I had almost forgotten she was in the room. 

Jon didn’t acknowledge her. He stood up before me, and I followed. Ghost quietly entered. He nudged Nymeria and she stood to take to their side. I twisted my mouth. I wished he was going to be with me, but I gathered commanders had many other manners they ought to take care of, manners that hadn’t involved keeping their little sisters company all day. “I’ll find you at supper.” 

He walked off, a bit reluctant in his steps. Nymeria turned to me and whined. “Stay with Ghost and Jon.” I commanded. She whined again as she followed Jon, her steps just as reluctant as his. I felt a heaviness build up in my chest as I watched him depart. For a little while, it had felt like the day he’d left me, left Winterfell for Starfall. But back then he was fresh-faced, younger and shorter, and his heart had been whole as mine was, but no longer is.

When the door closed behind him, I fought off tears while I changed into the scrubs. _ I could be so stupid_. I dumped my clothes on my new bed. I felt as a draft entered my roomy apparel. Jeyne was right. The scrubs _ were _ too big. 

When I finally managed to compose myself, I came out of the room. I met with Jeyne’s nasty glare. She was leaning on the wall by the door with her arms crossed. She sighed, sounding annoyed already. She was worse than Gendry. She began to walk before saying anything. I followed her, beginning to feel annoyed myself. I felt small without Nymeria, in an oversized uniform, following someone _else_ around. Groups of women filed out of their respective rooms when a faint alarm began to ring for the second time that day. I had began to walk quicker so that I was side-by-side with Jeyne instead of behind her. She side-eyed me before she presented me with a key. 

I grabbed it as we walked down a long beige hallway, full of commotion and squeaking boots. Her hands felt sandy. 

“It’s not so hard here, Lady Stark. Especially not in the winter.” 

“_Oh_.” 

“_And_ Jon _ is _ commander. I’m sure that makes things even easier. Your duties are not even mandatory, I bet.” Jeyne’s tone was cold. She was quiet and impolite, though perhaps not as hostile as the _ other _ Jeyne I knew, _ Jeyne Poole_, the one who would team up with Sansa to taunt and antagonize me. 

“But I don’t want that. I want to help. I don’t mind hard work, you know. It’s nice even, it keeps the mind busy.” 

Jeyne nodded. “If you say so.”

Jeyne Heddle _ did _ end up being a great teacher, just not much fun at all. 

... 

I stare into the glass overlooking the outside. It’s dark out, but the sky shines with a luminous light, and the snow falls lightly. Though it’s time to eat, I find my stomach feeling sick, my appetite nearly nonexistent. 

“Well, go on to supper. You’ve helped plenty.” Jeyne shouts from the end of the now-empty hall, dismissing me. She unbinds her hair, and I watch as it flows down over her shoulders. I spy a little smile form on her lips, but when she sees that I’ve caught her, she rolls her eyes and trails away. 

I turn my attention back to the window, back to the snows. Without much thought, I find my left-hand go to my stomach. When I realize what I’ve done, I flinch, and look around the empty corridors checking to see if anyone saw me, but no one is around. I’m alone, I think. _Alone_. My thoughts of solitude quickly take me to Jon. _ Jon_. _ My Jon_. I can still see him now, sitting alone on Winterfell's walls, watching sadly as Robb and Theon target-trained without him in the snowy yard. _He always tried to make himself hard to reach, but I always sought after him, always reached out to him to feel less alone too. _

... 

I find my way to Jon’s room easily enough. The halls in the lower floors are different, not as nice, and not as spacious. It smells musty, like men, and old wood. I look around, but no one’s here. I hear some voices echoing in the distance, but they sound far away enough. I knock on the door, though I don’t expect him to be in there. Surely, he’s at supper with everyone else. He’s probably waiting for me, as he _ always _ did. 

I look around once more before pulling out the parrying dagger from the elastic of my sweatpants. My eyes catch the steel shine before I plunge the tip into the gap of the door. With one sharp motion downwards, the door knob makes a _ rough _ peculiar noise. “_Oops_.” A bolt of sorts falls to the floor, and the door opens up slightly. That didn’t go as I planned. Gendry had taught me how to do that, though his technique was cleaner, and didn’t result in the destruction of the locks and handles. I enter the room, feeling mildly panicked, as if I’m about to get in trouble or something. I remind myself that this isn’t _ Winterfell_, and my mother, and Mordane were dead anyway.

The second I enter**, ** I immediately get a whiff of Jon’s _ smell_. I study the room. It’s simple, small, and cozy. He left his oil-lantern on, and it dimly lights the room. His bed is unmade, and his thick blanket sits on the edge, all wrinkly and formless. There are two old wine bottles standing on the floor beside the bedside table. One’s full and the other’s empty. It’s been almost two weeks since I last came in here and found him drunk. I attempt to close the door behind me, but it creaks awfully loudly while remaining slightly ajar. I sigh as I make my way to his bed feeling as the day’s toil begins to weigh down on me all at once. 

I run my fingers through the sheets, and listen as the winter wind blows through the narrow window. I feel a sense of familiarity, like I’ve already lived all this. I plop myself on the bed and my eyes go to his unloaded gun on the counter. I place the parrying dagger carefully beside it. I yawn, and before I know it, I’m dimming the lights. I start unlacing my boots too. A sort of peace consumes me suddenly. I kick off my shoes and climb onto Jon’s bed. It was something I’d done a hundred times before in the estate. I grab the covers and bring them over my shivering body as I lay down. 

His scent is potently etched onto the soft comforter too. I feel the bed embrace me almost. Memories of when I was younger, and innocent, flood my mind all of a sudden. And for a while I feel like the girl I used to be, like someone _ good_. For a while I feel safe and pure. 

... 

The first thing I feel is heat, a breath, like someone’s breathing into me. I try to awaken my body from it’s sleep, but I find I’m much too deep into my slumber. I hear a voice. And then a couple moments later, I feel a wetness on my face. _ It tickles_. I impulsively scratch my nose and feel my skin’s moisture there. I feel the wet tickle again, the feel of it on my fingers now. It takes me a while to finally open my eyes, but when I finally do, they’re met with large golden eyes. Everything looks hazy, and for a second, I forget where I am. My eyes open wide, and my heart begins to pound without much warning. 

“Sorry, little sister, but I’m afraid Nymeria isn’t too good at following orders.” The sound of his voice soothes me at once. I notice he’s sitting on the floor, his back against the bed. His hair’s shaggy; half-picked up and half-loose today. I notice the faded scars on his bare back. And then I understand and remember where I am again. I wipe my face with my sleeve as I go to sit up, Nymeria continues with her excited attempts at licking my face. Jon stands from the floor and goes to sit on the bed instead. “I didn’t want to wake you.” He says as he sits himself in front of me. 

His dark eyes look tired, like he’s fighting with sleep. I feel bad all of a sudden. “_Jon_. What time is it?” I ask as Nymeria continues crying out for attention, nudging me and licking my hand. 

“Around midnight.” He responds unsurely. 

“Midnight? You should’ve woken me up!” 

“What for?” He asks shaking his head. “They’ve all been saying what a good job you’ve been doing. I thought you've more than earned some rest.” 

“But ... I’ve got my own bed for that.” 

“What’s mine is yours.” 

“_Oh_.” I say, as I feel my face become hot once more. “Well, with that in mind ... I broke the door ...” 

Jon’s face beams wholeheartedly. He lets out a little giggle before he turns to me with a single nod. “_I know_,” he says with _that _warm smile still planted on his face. It’s infectious, and I find my cheeks aching from how widely I’m smiling too. 

Jon always was terrible at scolding me, and the years we spent apart didn’t seem to have changed that, though they changed so many _ other _ things. “_Why weren’t you at supper? Did you eat? _ ” I feel that heaviness enter my gut once more. That _ ill _ feeling. I don’t know what it is, or what it means, but I think of Gendry _ again_, of _ that _ unpleasant last encounter we had. I think with Jon, it might be easier to speak of the matters that had been eating me up alive the past several days. Though I want to tell him, I find the words are stuck inside my throat, not wanting to come out. 

“What’s wrong, Arya?” He asks me as he reaches for my left-hand and begins to caress the back of it with his thumb. “What’re you thinking?” 

I watch his thumb move in circles against my skin. And out of the side of my eye, I can see his bare chest and some small purple bruises here and there. I gulp. I want to ask him about the marks on his skin, about how he got them. I want to ask how he came to become a _commander_, and about how he spent all the days when we were apart. I want to ask him what he did, who he met, and whether he thought of me nearly much as I thought of him. I bravely meet his sleep gray eyes, full of concern, and realize that I’d have to answer his questions before I expect him to answer any of mine. 

I shake my head and shrug. I clench my throat to keep from crying. 

“Please don’t cry, Arya.” 

“I’m _not_ crying.” 

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he retorts, his voice hardening at once. Nymeria backs away due to his tone. She moves to the center of the room where Ghost lays down quietly. She lays down next to him, placing her head over his belly as she continues to watch me closely. “_Arya_.” Jon says sternly.

“You think you want to know, but you don’t.” 

“Is that right?” 

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Tell me anyway.” 

“No.” I persist stubbornly. He goes completely quiet in response. He’s in no mood for the back and forth, for my hard-boiled head. He lets go of my hand and leans forward, staring at me. He waits. His expression is bitter, and his eyes burn hotter than real fire. I don’t dare look him in the eyes, as a shame overtakes me. 

“_Fine_ ...” I finally give in. “It’s … _ before I tell you _ … I need you to promise me you won’t be angry.” 

“I won’t be angry with you, Arya. I promise.” 

“And ...” 

“_And _?”

“_And _ ... you need to promise you won’t be ... angry with _Gendry_, _ either_.” 

He studies my face for a mere couple of seconds before he covers his own face with his hands. He rubs his eyes in pure distress. “_Oh for fuck’s sake _ ...” He huffs. He knows what's coming.

“Gendry came inside of me.” 

I feel my heart drop at the release of the words. I watch as Jon’s face becomes red. I feel as a wrath radiates from him. For a second, I think perhaps Gendry _ was _ right, right about Jon exiling him during the fiercest storm of the winter, leaving his frigid body out for the biters to dine on. Jon sits there for a while. He looks defeated, and _disgusted_. 

“I’m sorry,” I say when his disappointed eyes meet with mine again. “I’m stupid.” 

“You’re _ not _ stupid.” He says strictly. 

“I am.” I persist. “And if you’re going to be mad at _ anyone _ it should be me! It’s my fault. _My _ idea.”

Jon shakes his head and looks away. I suppose I just made it worse. My first inkling was right, I shouldn’t have said anything, I should’ve kept my stupid mouth shut. Now, just like Gendry, Jon is angry at me too. 

“You don’t have to stick up for him, you know. Was he thinking about you when he did ... _ that _?” 

“It’s not like that ...” 

“It’s not like what?” 

“I mean, it sort of _ just happened_.” 

“Is that what he said?”

I shrug. 

“What a _fucking_ tool.” 

“_Jon_ ...” 

Jon only shakes his head, and rubs at his temple. I don’t know if I felt worse for Jon or Gendry. I felt so terribly stupid to have put this burden on Jon. I knew he didn’t want to know, but I brought it up anyway. Jon gives a deep exhale before he goes to grab my hand again, this time much more firmly. 

“I’ll figure this all out tomorrow.” He says looking defeated. “I don’t want you to worry about this anymore.” Jon’s eyes are glassy and somber. “Alright?” I nod as I stare at him. I watch as he brings my hand over to his lips. He plants a light kiss on it. It’s gentle but slow and long. He lays my hand back down lightly, squeezing once before letting go. “Just go to sleep.” 

“Here?” I ask. 

“If you want.” 

I nod. “And Jon listen-”

“-I said no more worrying,” he turns, and this time he doesn't look as upset. I shrink back inside the covers as I watch Jon move to sit at the edge of the bed. He turns, his back facing me now. I bring the covers over my neck and shiver.

“You should get some sleep too, Jon.” I say, concerned, already beginning to make room for him beside me. 

“I won’t sleep, even if I tried. Might as well spend the night doing something productive.” 

He stands, grabbing the black t-shirt from the floor and bringing it over his arms, and then head. I watch as the dark cotton shirt falls over his stomach. I bite my lip. “_Jon_.” I call out to him before he can get to his boots. He turns at once, and looks into me with so much focus. I feel another sensation in my stomach, but it isn’t the _ ill _ feeling, it’s something else, something I’ve felt _ before_. _ Before _ when I was _ pure_. 

_ Suddenly I’m nine years old again, and Jon’s just fourteen. I’m in his bedroom in the estate. His pillows and his comforter smell like pine and Ghost. His room is tiny, far smaller than mine, but a great deal comfier, cozier, and safer. I rub my feet together for warmth as he stands at the door, ready to leave me. He says he won’t sleep, and I insist he tries, but he only smiles and attempts to leave. “Big Brother, could you stay? Please? Just until I fall asleep?” _

Jon looks amused, like he remembers the memory as vividly as I do. He nods and moves back towards the bed. He sits at the opposite edge this time, so that his back is against the wall. He leans his head back against the wall and sighs loudly. He stares at the ceiling at first, then at Ghost and Nymeria, and then lastly at me. Our eyes lock onto one another’s for a while, and the silence between us feels natural. 

It doesn’t take long until I’m slipping under again. My eyelids become heavier and heavier by the second. His voice says something softly, though I don’t catch it. My lingering drowsiness begins to consume me whole, slowly, and slowly. I hear the winds howl, feel the warm embrace of the covers, and the smell of his person. 

_ When the darkness finally sets in, I’m home again. _


	12. Thicker than Blood

Jon 

It’s a cold night and an eerie silence fills the unit. I sit in the narrow little room, a room that’s a hybrid between a kitchen and a lounging area. A round table sits on one side with four worn-out chairs around it. On the other side is a counter with medicine, vials, and condiments. It’s late, past midnight, and every minute my body grows more weary. I watch as Sam, in shabby black robes, stands by the counter in the corner of the room, still fucking about with those herbs. It’s been days since I asked him to brew that wretched _ tansy_. 

The kettle begins to whistle and I sit up in almost excitement. “Is it ready?” I ask him eagerly. It had taken Samwell and Aemon days to prepare the damned thing. Though I appreciated their meticulous work, I grew more and more impatient every moment it wasn’t in Arya’s body. I didn’t want to think of the possibility of the tea reaching Arya too late, of Gendry’s seed planting itself in her womb, and growing. I feel my fists clench and my feet begin to tap at their own accord. 

“Almost.” Sam answers calmly. 

Sam moves excruciatingly slow. I wonder if he’s doing it on purpose. I sigh as the whistling becomes louder but Sam fails to acknowledge it. Behind his fat back, I see him fumble about with a porcelain mug, looking around the rotted-wooden cabinets for condiments. 

“Does Val still not take extra honey?” He asks. 

“For fuck’s sake, Sam. Honey is the least of my worries.” I slam my palm on the table. “Just attend to the bloody kettle!” I try to pull back the fire immediately. I don’t mean to be so cold towards Samwell, he’s helping me after all. He doesn’t need to, but he is. He turns to look at me, then looks down, almost sadly. 

“Sorry.” 

“No, Sam, _ I’m _ sorry.” I persist. “Go on, add the extra honey, she’d like that.” 

He nods. He goes to turn off the kettle, the sharp whistling turning into a light hissing before quieting off entirely. Sam sets the white porcelain cup in front of me on the table. He pours the boiling water in the mug carefully, not spilling one drop on the table. He stops until it’s half-full and brings the kettle back to its place on the grubby stove. 

I watch as the pale green liquid inside bubbles, and dark herbs swim up to the surface. “Thank you, Sam.” I say as I stand at once and reach towards the steaming cup.

“Not yet. It has to sit. Just for several minutes. The longer the better.” I sigh in annoyance and then plop back on the chair. Sam gives me a dreary look before sitting down on the chair in front of me. I rub my face, feeling the exhaustion overtaking me. I can’t remember the last time I slept properly. Arya had been helping herself to my bed these past nights. While she slept I sulked, and thought, and came around to fixing the door she had broken with the dagger. 

She still had the dagger I had given her all those years ago. I still can’t believe she kept it, and kept it in such impeccable shape. I held the steel in my palms as her soft sleepy breath played like a song. I stroked the pommel, then slid my finger against the flat side of the blade. _ Biters in the head, people in the heart_. Those words had taken a completely different meaning after all these years, but they still rang true enough. 

“Jon? Are you alright?” Sam asks suddenly. His pale eyes look sunken and tired. 

“Yes. I was just ... _ thinking_.” 

“_Well_, what of?”

“Loads of things.” I rub my arms feeling a chill enter the room. Ghost feels it too. I feel him scoot closer to me, his fur tickling my legs. I extend my arm and caress him, bringing my fingers through his fur. 

“If anything’s wrong, anything at all, I can help you.” 

“You help me enough,” I say, gesturing to the Moon tea. 

Sam smiles awkwardly and looks off to the side. I know he knows something’s wrong. Though he’s not stubborn and persistent enough to insist. So for a while, we sit in silence, waiting for the tea to soak, to turn as potent as possible. I’m not much of a talker, he knows that. But I try to be nevertheless. I think of something to ask, something that’s been on my mind for what feels like an eternity. 

“Sam,” I say suddenly. He sits up and looks up at me, almost surprised. 

“Yes?” 

“What exactly would you and Aemon need to properly develop a vaccine? I mean could you? Is it possible?” 

“Of course it’s possible.” He responds. 

“But then ... Why did all those people _ turn _? Why’d they die?” 

“Well for starters, they weren’t immune. Just had stronger immunity. But you knew that-”

“-I did. _ I do_.” 

Sam throws me a sad look. “Is everything alright?” He asks again but I ignore the question. 

“If the vaccines are real ... if the _ Camo Men _ knew something ...” I rub my face. I feel like I’m asking too much, but still I continue, unable to stop since I’ve already started. Sam’s round face looks uneasy. “Is a person who’s vaccinated an immune?” I ask finally. 

“Well ... _ yes_.” Sam answers. Here I go again, asking questions that I don’t want the answers to. 

“So a real immune ... the cure could be in their _ blood _?” 

Sam nods. “It could be.” 

“So there wouldn’t be any need for surgeries. No need to go for their _ hearts _ ? Their _ brains _?” Sam looks at me a bit confused, like he has no clue where it’s all coming from even though I highly suspect he does. 

“Well, _ no _ … not at first. It’s tricky … it’s even trickier to explain. We’d have to test them for antibodies. See what’s working in their bodies that isn’t working in everyone else’s. We’d have to run a lot of tests first ...”

I sigh and sit back. I feel my thoughts begin to soar. “Is Shireen an immune, you think?” 

“I don’t know. The physician Aemon is certain she won’t make it. He says she gets worse everyday. It’s quite sad to hear. ” 

“What do _ you _ think?”

“I don’t know.” He says again, though I can tell through his bitter expression that he’s being dishonest, that he’s choosing to be naively optimistic. 

_ We sit in silence for a little while. When the tea stops smoking he drops another leaf-of-sorts inside and stirs it with a long steel spoon. He tells me, “it’s ready now, commander,” and to be careful not to spill it, because he has no energy to brew up another any time soon. I smile and thank him. I grab the cup, feeling the heat of the tea on my palm. Still, I cling to it with my life. Before I leave, Sam calls out to me again. “If you truly need help, I'll help you. And so will Aemon, Pyp, Grenn, and Edd. You’re not alone, you know.” I tell him I know, and I thank him again. _

... 

When I enter my room, a gust of cold air hits me. “_It’s freezing in here_.” I mumble. Arya sits up from the bed suddenly. She’s in a dark oversized shirt, and her sweatpants sit at the end of the bed. Her feet poke from out of the covers. She hides her bare legs inside the blankets. “Arya, it’s much too cold to sleep without pants.” I don’t look directly in her eyes, only move towards the bedside, and set the mug safely down. 

“Sorry.” She says as she quickly goes to grab her pants. It wasn’t like her to not put up a fight. I look away as she goes to reach for them. I sit at the edge of the bed as I hear her rustling about, the bed’s springs whine with her movements. Ghost places himself where he belongs, right beside Nymeria, but not before licking her face first. “Okay.” She says and I turn back towards her. She bites her bright pink bottom lip and sits with her legs pulled in, holding herself and shivering. I catch her side-eyeing the mug. 

“Will it hurt?” She asks sweetly. 

“Nothing _ you _ can’t handle.” 

She reaches for the mug, and holds it between her bony, delicate hands. She brings it up to her nose curiously and sniffs. “It smells nice. _ Sweet_.” 

“It’s the honey.” 

“I can’t remember the last time I’ve had honey.” She beams. She puts her lips on the rim and takes a little taste. I watch her eagerly, hoping to the Gods that she doesn’t end up spilling it, or worse, deciding not to drink it. She brings it back down. 

“_What _? What is it?” 

“What exactly does it do?” She asks. 

“I-it’s sort of like … you get your_ blood_, except much heavier, and all at once. It could take a couple of hours.” 

“_Oh_.” 

“I’ll leave the showers running.” 

“You can do that? You’re allowed to?” 

“No, but I’ll make an exception for you.” 

“And you’ll stay with me ... _ the entire time_?” 

“Of course.”

She nods and averts her attention back to the cup. She closes her eyes tightly, and brings the cup to her lips. She downs the warm liquid all at once, she takes a few large gulps. She swallows again and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. She exhales loudly, her breath short. She’s got a disgusted look on her face. “_Ugh_, that’s much too sweet.” I find myself trying to hold back a smile. “_I think I’ve been sensitized to sweetness_.” 

...

_ It didn’t take long for Arya to feel the cramping wholeheartedly. She acted like it didn't hurt, but she whimpered out loud a couple times. She clung to my hand as we walked the quiet halls, the gesture filling me with memories of home. I took Arya to the locker room on my floor, the one I use almost exclusively. It was always deserted in the later hours, but I left Nymeria and Ghost outside to guard the entrance anyway. _

_ I closed the metal door and heard it close with an echo. Arya watched me set her pair of clean clothes on the bench, and then followed me closely towards the showers. She clutched her stomach but her face stayed neutral. I turned the water on by turning the rusty lever on the floor of the shower. Arya stared at the running water in awe. “That easy, huh?” She extended her hand and felt the warm water fall against her palm. _

_ “Depleting resources is a terrible offense. So if you’re going to do it, don’t get yourself caught.” _

_ “What kind of commander are you?” _

_ I grinned. “The bad kind.” Arya giggled at that. _

_ Arya had looked me up and down before gripping the hem of her shirt. I understood and turned. A silence fell between us. As I walked away, I turned around at once and felt my heart begin to race. “I’ll wait at the bench.” I said, but she said nothing in response. As I began to walk away, I wondered if she had heard me and turned around stupidly to check, not really thinking. For half a second, I saw her pulling her shirt over her head. I was exposed to her bare chest before I had the opportunity to look away. I closed my eyes, turned, and pretended I didn’t see. I heard the water hitting the floor, heard how it echoed. _

_ Arya whimpered again. “Arya?” I called out to her from the other side of the vast room wondering if she could hear me. _

_ “I think it’s started.” She said, sounding strained. I looked down, towards the hall that divided us. I saw her clothes in a ball on the floor beside her shower. The shower curtains rustled and I looked away at once, afraid that I would accidentally catch a glimpse of her exposed body again. _

_ “Jon?” She called out suddenly. _

_ “Yes?” I said standing, and stepping forward in slight panic. “What is it?” _

_ She paused, and then she whimpered again. “Can you come here? Sit near me ... right there, in the shower next door ...” _

_ I hesitated before I said, “Okay.” _

... 

I sit with my back against the shower wall, the wall sitting between Arya and I. The floor feels cold, but some of the warm water from Arya’s shower falls onto my face in a soft mist. I close my eyes and lean my head back on the wall, feeling the warmth of the water falling on my skin. I watch how the steam begins to fill the room. Arya lets out _ another _ suppressed moan. I sit up in alarm again, but the moment passes and everything’s alright. I hear her sigh. I wonder what time it is now, how long we’ve been here. I’m not as drowsy as I was, for my adrenaline is keeping me awake and alert. Still, there isn’t anything I’d like more than sleeping peacefully, for days at a time, completely uninterrupted. 

I never accompanied Val when she drank Moon Tea. She told me once that that was something a woman ought to do alone. I never spilled inside Val intentionally. And unlike Arya, she’d had to have missed her blood before she thought anything was wrong. Val has never been my woman. Nor has she ever felt like my woman. She’s always been her own person, a person who could never truly belong to anyone. _ Ygritte _ had come close to feeling like mine, _ once_. _ But Arya_. _ Arya _ was a different matter entirely. 

_ “Jon?” _

_ “Yes?” _

_ “I was just checking if you were still there.” _

_ “Of course I’m still here.” _

_ “You’re quiet is all.” _

_ “At ease, little sister. I’m not going anywhere.” _

There’s a silence amidst the water slamming on the concrete. For a while I find my thoughts going back to Ygritte, my former _ smuggling companion _ . We were only together for a brief moment, and then she faded away until she began to feel like a distant dream. She reminded me of Arya so often, especially at first. It was the reason why I kept her close. But after a while, it turned into something else, something _ almost _ hopeful. I think of Ygritte’s bare body, her skinny narrow waist, and her taut breasts. But I find, suddenly, that my memory of Ygritte is too fleeting, and whenever I try to see her, I see Arya instead. I shake my head. I try to push away _ those _ thoughts. I tell myself it means nothing. 

Arya hiccups and it brings me back to real life. I don’t think much of it until she does it again. 

“_Arya_?” 

“_I’m fine_.” She says in a strain. 

“Is it hurting?” 

“_No_. It’s almost stopped.” Her voice trembles and she sniffs. 

She sniffs again. It almost sounds like she’s trying to suppress a cry. I try to pretend I don’t notice but that doesn’t last long. I want her to know I notice these things. I want to hold her. I want to tell her she’s not alone anymore, that she never truly was. I clear my throat to speak but she beats me to it, like she almost senses what I’m about to say, like she could read my mind. 

“I didn’t want to go to the Capital. I would’ve fought it more if it wasn’t for you going to Starfall. I thought … _ Jon will be close to me, it’ll be alright _ . Father didn’t want to go either, but he felt like it was the right thing, which I could understand. Sansa was happy though, and Jeyne. _ They were happy_.” 

I listen closely and though her voice sounds faint, I don’t miss a word. 

“I don’t remember much of my time in the Capital at all. The food was good, but it was rather lonely. Father was always away tending to a hundred different matters while the Supreme Leader ate and drank. Sansa never talked to me really, and Jeyne talked to me even less. And then one day, the alarms blared. One minute I was sitting eating supper with father and Sansa, and the next minute I see his head being blown off, feel his warm blood spatter on my face-” 

“-Arya …” 

“I didn’t scream. I didn’t do anything. I heard shouting. Heard Sansa’s screams, and Lady’s yelps. A commotion erupted. Somebody dragged me away. I don’t remember who. I think it was one of father's men. And then I was outside, _ safe_, with Nymeria beside me. With the dagger and pistol you gave me. They had all been with me somehow. I was _ lucky_.” 

“_Lucky_?” I ask, feeling appalled. 

“Yes. I think so. Nymeria hunted for me, saved me against biters at least half a dozen times. _ And people_. People were much worse than the infected, but Nymeria kept me safe, your pistol, your dagger … the idea that you were still somewhere near.” 

_ I clench my fists. _

“Then came Hot Pie, Lommy, and Gendry. And they made everything better. I found good people, I found friends. I knew eventually I’d run out of luck. And I was right. We made it to Starfall. It was torn apart, burning, and littered with infected. So we left. Dorne was hell on earth, and still I wanted to stay, wanted to hold on to any hope of _ you_. But after a while it was clear you were either dead or gone.” 

“I felt so _ stupid_.” Arya’s voice begins to tremble once more and now I’m sure she’s crying. “I dragged all of them into that, put them in harm’s way _ for nothing_.” 

“_Arya … I’m so sorry_.” 

“_Don’t _ be sorry. Once we arrived at the Riverlands, we were hardened killers and thieves. The Riverlands were ugly and rotted, just like we’d become on the inside. The biters weren’t as big a threat in the Riverlands than they were in Dorne, but the people were much worse. Rapings, and murders, and sickness … _ everywhere_. I remember everyone I killed. I remember _ all _ their faces.”

“And then we infiltrated one of the larger groups. And … there _ she _ was. A little tiny thing. _ Weasel_. It was off, she was with them, but not _ with _ them. She clung onto me the second she spotted me. She helped me. I didn’t understand why. She was so skinny, skinnier than I ever was. Her hair was all matted and frail. Gendry wouldn’t let me take her, but she cried and wailed and held me. It was one of our worst disagreements, mine and Gendry’s. He could be so tender … and then _ so cold _ ... _ so unyielding_.”

“Then we met up with another group. _ The Brotherhood_. And they were decent enough. They didn’t want to kill us. We figured ... safety in numbers and what not. We stayed together for a while. They told us of my mother, and Robb. Of how they were searching for _ me_, for _ Sansa._ But that didn’t last. I knew my mother died before I heard it. _I dreamt it_. Dreamt of Robb too.” 

Arya sniffs and then her voice trembles more aggressively. It’s almost too hard to hear. “I thought I had already felt the worst of it, that I was immune to grief, but I was wrong. Bran and Rickon were lost somewhere, and I’d never see them. Sometimes I wished they were dead. I hated the idea that they were off somewhere, lost, suffering, feeling _ this _ never ending grief.” 

I hear Arya’s quiet weeps, hear the water crashing, how it muffles out her anguish. I feel my heart begin to break, feel as a lump begins to form inside my throat. 

“I tried to forget it. I tried to forget _ all _ of them. I tried to forget I was Arya Stark for a long time. For a little while, it _ almost _ worked. I had a _new_ family and we were too busy surviving to dwell on our pasts. I just wanted to forget. _ But Gods, Jon_. No matter how hard I bloody tried, I couldn’t forget _ you_.” 

She sniffs. I can almost see her through the wall now, angrily rubbing at her face to rid her skin of any shedding tears. I swallow as I find my eyes water. I rub them harshly, and sigh. 

“And then your men came and said your name and it all came rushing back. _ All of it_. And I couldn’t pretend like I wasn’t Arya anymore. So I let my guard down. And Weasel and Lommy died because of it.” 

“None of that is your fault!” 

“We killed your men, Jon. And I didn’t bury them. I felt sorry for a lot of the people we had killed, but not them. I _ hate _ them.” 

“_Good_.” I retort. “You’ve every right to hate them. And I’m _glad_ they’re dead.” 

“_Jon _ ...” 

“What do you want me to say, Arya? That I’m sad for them? That I’m disappointed in you? I’m _not_! I’m glad they're dead! I hope they suffered for hurting you.”

Arya doesn’t say anything for a moment so I fill the silence. 

“And _ me_. You’ve every right to hate _me_ too.”

“_What ..._” 

“I should’ve waited for you at Starfall. I broke my promise. I _lied_. I lied to myself, told myself you were dead anyway. That it _ didn’t matter_. I went North. I’d heard of the Black Union, heard they accepted anyone who’d help their cause. So I smuggled in weapons for them, _ food_, _ medicine_, _ anything _ and _ everything _ they needed. It was hard, and I nearly died a hundred times, but it was nice to have my mind occupied. I felt _so_ numb. I’d heard of father, and Robb, and did nothing. Almost as if I had no fight left inside me.”

“It wasn’t until they mentioned _ you _ that I felt it all flooding in. Like whatever remained of my dead heart was coming back to life. I became commander by some miracle. And for years I looked for you. I made it my number one priority. I could let go of father, Robb, and Bran ... I could let go of Winterfell, _ and all the rest_. But Arya ... I couldn’t let go of _ you_.” 

“I’m sorry if my actions caused you any pain, little sister. That’s the last thing I would’ve ever wanted.” I feel her sadness almost as vividly as I feel my own. I’m suddenly tempted by this overwhelming urge to weep, but I suppress it. “I wish I could take it away. Every bad thing ...”

We’re quiet. I press my hand on my chest and notice my heart’s pounding, and my shirt’s damp. I stand feeling stiff. Seconds later, I hear the curtains rustling and the sound of a towel hitting the floor. Wet footsteps approach me. And then Arya’s in front of me. She wraps her towel around her thin frame. Her dark hair is wet, dripping, and sticking to her cheeks. Her eyes look a lighter gray, and they’re red and wet, and focused on me. Her golden necklace hangs over her pale neck. She bites her lip as she looks down, her face so full of sorrow yet so lovely. She stands there. Frozen in place. 

I feel another _ overwhelming urge _as I grab her naked arm, much too forcefully, and pull her towards me. I wrap my arms around her waist, and embrace her, sinking my face into her neck. I take in her smell though it’s masked by the sharp smells of soap. I feel her warm body against mine, feel how she doesn’t hesitate to reciprocate, to tighten her arms around me. 

“_Oh, Arya_.” The words spill out of my mouth. I feel my eyes well up with tears, but I don’t try to restrain them this time. 

  
  



	13. The Cold Heat

Gendry 

I’m up before the daylight. I haven’t been sleeping all too well for the past several days. I share a room with eleven other men on the ground floor of the resident building. The beds are nearly as bad as the ones at the Capital, but it’s not nearly as bad as all the snoring, and the pungent stench of _men_. I had almost forgotten what it was like. Every day I miss the nights in the soft hospital bed. The days when I’d be alone were nice, but the days Arya popped in were _nicer_. 

My mind goes back to the last time I was inside her. I watch the dark ceiling, as I feel my bulge begin to harden. I go to lay on my side. A stocky older man stirs in the bed next to mine. I wonder if it’ll _ever _happen again. _ A stupid thing to wonder_. She’s probably come to her senses by now, fucking a _ worthless nobody bastard with nothing to offer except a violent rage_. The words become almost a mantra of sorts.

Now, she had her brother, her _commander _brother, who made her laugh and would do _anything _and _everything _for her. I guess it’s different with family, I wouldn’t know _anything _about that. We _could’ve _been a proper family, _ Arya_, _ Lommy_, _ Hot Pie_, _ Weasel, and I_, if it weren’t for _those _men in black if it weren’t for _ Jon_. Though I know the thoughts to be unreasonable, I still think them. Think about how commander Jon Snow keeps taking the little things I have, _ had_, the little things that made this shit life worth a bloody damn. 

I sit up from the bed, my hot-blood already bubbling within me. Attempting to sleep any moment more would be a waste. I grab the folded bundle of clothes on the floor and begin to pull it on. The material feels cold over me. First are the thermal sweats, then the cargo pants, followed by a rough old thermal shirt, and a bulky coat that I tie around my waist. I slip inside the dark worn-out boots last, not bothering to lace them up. 

…

  
  


The kitchen is warm and large, but cramped. It’s the first time I’ve been inside, and the first time I’ve seen Hot Pie in a couple of days. I’m relieved he spotted me entering the cafeteria. I never thought I’d be so happy to see Hot Pie in my entire life. Sharing a room with eleven different strangers felt lonelier than being alone at times. 

The cafeteria was empty except for a couple of men wiping the floors with gray mops. They were both small and old, with nearly identical round faces. “_Breakfast isn’t for another two hours, boy_.” One of them spat. “ _ Are you deaf? _” If it wasn’t for Hot Pie calling me over to the kitchens, I might have whacked the man. I stepped over the wet floor maliciously and heard as they muttered curses under their breath. 

Hot Pie stirs an enormous pot of what I guess to be porridge as three other women, and another plump man, work away in the back, speaking amongst themselves. “What are _ you _ doing awake so early?” 

“I wish I knew.”

Hot Pie’s in a tight black shirt, roomy pants, and a dirty black apron over it all. His scarlet cheeks look rounder already. 

Hot Pie drops herbs-of-sorts into the pot. It smells all too savory to be porridge. I find I don’t care enough to ask. I lean against a wall and study the surroundings. There must be a handful of _great, advanced _generators behind this place. The fluorescent lights in the kitchen are especially bright. “Have you spoke to Arya?” He asks, all of a sudden, and I tense up. I don’t answer right away, only untie the heavy winter-coat and drop it atop a metal table nearby.

“She doesn’t want to talk to me.” 

“What have you done?” 

I ignore his question. I catch two of the women staring at me, and then quickly looking away and giggling. I furrow my brow, more annoyed than confused. The smell of food does nothing to tame my appetite, and my hunger does nothing to help me feel less irritable. Nor do Hot Pie’s accusations. 

Hot Pie turns. “Everyone always says fuckin’ ruins friendships.” 

I throw him a hard look. 

“_What_? What have I said?!” Hot Pie asks, turning back to his pot. “Every damn person here knows. The kitchen wenches gossip!” He says in a loud whisper. 

“The kitchen wenches or _ you_?"

“I suppose _ both_.” Hot Pie says unashamedly.

All Lommy ever spoke about was the women he had _supposedly _ fucked, but no one in their right mind believed him. The lad lived in his own ridiculous fantasies, I guess that was his way of _coping_, of _going on_. Hot Pie, on the other hand, hardly ever spoke about girls, at least not in the way that Lommy had.

“What do _ you _ know about fucking anyway?” 

“Way more than you’d think.” Hot Pie responds. 

“Oh, yeah right.” I retort, glaring.

Hot Pie, unphased, looks over his shoulder and smirks. I roll my eyes.

There’s a silence between us for a while**.** I lean back and stand with my back against the wall. I observe the kitchen, observe Hot Pie as he begins to boil water from a giant metal pot. I consider helping him, but I realize that if I help him once, he’ll expect me to _always _help him. I exchange a couple more glares with the kitchen wenches. They’re dark-haired, dark-eyed, homely women who look as _ Northern _as they come. I wonder why they keep staring, but again find I don’t care enough to confront them. 

“I think they like you.” Hot Pie says not failing to avert his attention from his pots. The kitchens feel warm. _ Too _warm. A bead of sweat falls from my forehead down to the corner of my cheeks. I wipe myself with my sleeve. I feel my muscles tense up without my permission. 

Hot Pie turns, observing me in that irritating way of his. He disappears onto the other side of the kitchen and comes back with a large cardboard box full of eggs. My foot begins to fidget. I feel famished. 

“You’re twenty-two years old. A lethal killer of men and infected alike and you’re afraid of girls.” He says as he plops the box on the counter, surely breaking a few eggs in the process. I stiffen at once. My hands turn to tight fists at my sides. 

“I’m _ not _afraid of girls.” I spit menacingly, but for once Hot Pie is unafraid. I suppose he feels high and mighty in the kitchen with his wenches. He brings his hand over the pot and then turns back to his box. He begins to add the eggs into the pot, plopping them inside one at a time. “If you say so.” His accusatory tone sends a rush of hot blood to my head but I only exhale and lean back on the wall in frustration. 

The kitchen maids aren’t the only girls I’ve caught staring at me or trying to talk to me. I hadn’t had to deal with this nonsense when I was stationed in the Hospital Unit. I suppose the little bossy nurse that took care of me was maybe a little too friendly at times when she’d ask her questions, and smile all too often. Still, she was not so obnoxious like the _other _women. The women of The Black Union were not only scarce, but mostly plain, and surprisingly desperate. They navigated in groups, and would occasionally bump into my injured shoulder and then giggle away with their friends. _ Stupid_. It would take a minute or so for the sharp pain to recede, but of course, they wouldn’t notice. 

The worst of them, of the girls, had been the Red woman, the one that stood close to the supreme leader Stannis Baratheon, always whispering in his ear, and stroking his arm. Her staring had been the worst. Something about her was off. Whoever she was, _ whatever _she was, felt not of this world. A stupid thing to think, I know. But I can recall her blood-red eyes digging inside me, trying to reach inside me, trying to find something deep inside.

I tried to ignore her as long as I could, ignored her glances, ignored how she always seemed to be in the same places as me, how she almost _marked _me silently. A couple of days ago she had found me in a place where I couldn’t simply walk away from her. Above the wall, in my assigned post, overlooking the ugly snow-covered world before me. It was a boring duty. I sat inside a cold compartment of sorts, overlooking the white terrain below me through a scope. I never saw anything but trees and snow. Hell, even the biters detested this cold. A pistol lay on the old rotted-wood desk before me, besides the M24. My duty was to clear the area from any lingering, or approaching biters. The pistol, I found, served no _real _purpose. 

I hadn’t noticed when she approached. I didn’t even hear the door open. One minute I felt cold, and the next, heat, like someone started a fire. I turned at once and she was before me, looking down at me. I did not react physically. I stood my ground as my eyes clashed with hers. She was a tall woman, with long thick red hair, and a voluptuous body. Her tight red dress only accentuated her curves. I suppose most men would have found her to be attractive, I wasn’t sure that I did or do. 

“Hello, Gendry.” She said sitting on the hard wooden bench beside me. I turned the sniper away as I scooted away from her, but still, she felt too close. I inhaled her sharp odor of flowers and what I could only describe as a combination of fire and blood. 

I turned to meet her red eyes. We were face to face now. I glared at her. It seemed to almost amuse her. 

“Aren’t you cold?” I asked stupidly. 

She grabbed my hand, she felt hot, like she was sick, though she didn’t look it. She placed my hand on her cheek and I felt it almost burn my palm. I yanked away from her grip. She sneered and placed her hands on her lap. I found myself feeling threatened, and I never completely kept my eyes off the pistol, maybe it _could _serve a real purpose. 

“What do you want?” I asked finally. “Do you know me?” 

She tilted her head. “I suppose I do.” She said as she studied me. Her face was pale and the choker around her neck glowed strangely. She looked into my eyes as she spoke, but I found it hard to keep eye contact with her, I wasn’t afraid of her, just suspicious. “Do you know who your father was, Gendry? Do you know of the blood that runs through your veins?” 

“Get on with it.” I pressed. 

She sneered again. “The blood of the deceased supreme leader, Robert Baratheon.” 

Though the woman was strange, I had no trouble believing her claim, Arya had joked about the probability half a million times before, the former supreme leader was well known for his whoring. I found that I didn’t care who my father was, I never cared, and I’ll never care. “_ Alright _.” is all I said. 

She moved in closer to me, our faces only inches apart. I tried to inch away but the back of my head hit the hard glass. “The lord of light has chosen you, Gendry. You are not just some _commoner_. Not _some _bastard. He has brought you all this way to me, to your uncle, and cousin. To _ your _family.” 

_ Family. _ I felt almost a flutter in my stomach at the word. I swallowed hard. Her words had suddenly grabbed my attention. “I wanted to meet you. As does your uncle, _ Stannis_. You do not belong up here on your own, engaging in trivial duties. Sharing a frigid room with a dozen _inferior _strangers ... ” She touched my face again, and for a while I let her. Something had possessed me to close my eyes. She moved her fingers from my lips to my cheeks and then to my hair. She stroked it. “A true Baratheon,” she whispered. “ _ Through and through _.”

I felt a gust of wind, felt the cold air return at once. When I opened my eyes she was gone. I wondered if I dreamt it. But the windows in the compartment were foggy and the smell of her lingered. “_ Melisandre_,” something whispered and I shivered. 

“What are you thinking about?” Hot Pie asks after another long silence between us. He approaches me with a tray full of food, much more food than the usual ration. I reach for it hungrily.

“Scary girls,” I state before plopping the tray on the metal table and devouring my breakfast. 

… 

I leave the kitchens before Arya can arrive. Hot Pie tells me she usually comes around early to collect scraps for Nymeria and Ghost. I want to talk to her, want to get rid of the pathetic strain between us, but I’m _too _craven, a _ good-for-nothing coward_. I get to my station early. It’s nearly empty with the exception of some guards here and there, speaking to each other loudly. I walk past them without saying as much as one word. The wind is so cold it bites through my gear. The ice beneath me is slippery, but I presume on without difficulty. 

I sit on my post, closing the door behind me, pushing it against the wind’s great force. Once it slams to a close, I breathe out and sit. The compartment feels cold and I feel heavy. The sky is a dark gray, darker than usual, and the winds are violent. A great storm must be underway. I wipe away all the fog that has settled on the glass with my sleeve. Still, it’s difficult to make out anything. Through the scope, everything looks dark gray and blurry. I push the sniper away hopelessly, planning to sit and sulk until nightfall. 

The wind rattles the entry, and the wind whistles away like a ghost. It’s cold. Colder than usual. I bring the black winter hat on the table down over my ears. I wrap my arms around my body, feeling the stiffness of my shoulder in the process. 

Within a few hours, I’m drifting off, my body attempting to catch up with the sleep I missed. I lean my head against the glass, crossing my arms against my chest. Before I know it, I’m dreaming. The compartment lifts off from the wall it seems, and I travel back to the white house in the Wolfswood. It’s brighter and bigger, and everyone is at home. Even Lommy and little Weasel. I can hear Lommy and Hot Pie bickering, and Nymeria’s obnoxious howling, like she’s squabbling with them. Weasel’s tiny voice interjects, playing the reconciler. Their voices become distant as I toss and turn in the mattress of the cold room, _ our _cold room. I turn, grab her body, and press it against mine. She feels bony but warm and sweet. 

_ “You were supposed to be on look-out.” _ I open my eyes and her large gray eyes stare into my face. Arya’s brown hair is long and falls over her naked shoulders. Her expression is angry and willful. I hear banging. “ _ Gendry _ .” Her voice calls out but her lips don’t move. She lays beside me on the bed still and touches my face lightly before getting up and disappearing through the doorway. Suddenly the house doesn’t look like the house anymore, just a pitch-black room that’s cold and sounds like winter. “_Gendry! _” I hear again, and the banging is louder this time. 

  
  


I wake up with a jerk and suddenly I’m in the Black Union again. I wipe away the drool from the side of my lips as I hear yet another knock, knuckles against glass. “Open up, stupid!” Her voice comes in muffled through the glass and the gusts. I sit up and rub my eyes, barely unable to make anything out as my eyes are still half-closed. My heart begins to pound stupidly as I open the door open for her. She rushes inside in nothing but long-sleeved scrubs, the chill radiating off her skin and clothes. 

Once she’s inside, she and I pull the door to a close together, hurriedly and forcefully. It slams closed and she sighs turning. Her hair is short again, and her lips look almost blue from the cold. “You’re mad,” I say as I sit myself down on the bench. She sits down next to me rubbing her arms with her hands for warmth. I take off my coat and throw it on her lap. She chews on her lip and goes to grab it, quickly bringing it over her shoulders. The air feels crisp, even through the thermal. 

Arya turns to face me. Her gray eyes are almost sad. “Hot Pie said you wanted to see me.” 

_ The bloody shithead bastard ... _

I turn away from her and roll my eyes sighing, my eyes landing on the gray world through the glass. Suddenly the compartment feels like a snug cell. I stand my ground stubbornly. “I never told him that.”

Arya scoffs. “I didn’t think you did.” I can almost hear her teeth shattering. I watch her through the corner of my eye. She fidgets, unable to keep still. Her hair is a mess around her face, part of it looks damp, like she was sweating, or just showered. When her eyes meet with mine, I look away stiffly. “It’s me. _ I _ wanted to see you.” She says bravely. “_I sneaked up here to see you_,” She mumbles. 

I don’t know what to say. I only face her now, and she faces me, but her eyes are looking down and she’s slowly growing red. I find the look on her face amusing and find myself smiling stupidly, unable to stop myself. Arya notices and frowns. The large winter coat around her tiny shoulders makes her look even funnier. I make a face, trying hard not to laugh at her. 

“You’re so stupid! What are you laughing at?” 

I wasn’t sure what was so funny. Wasn’t sure if it was her sudden burst of vulnerability, the look of her in my coat, or how I’m suddenly imagining her running away from the hospital unit while numerous people yell after her “_ get back here _!” Maybe it’s all these things. Or something else ... She pinches me and I find the angrier she gets, the funnier it is. Now, I’m laughing, bursting with laughter, and Arya’s growing more frustrated by the second. 

“Shut up!” She shouts, pinching me harder in the chest. “Stop laughing!"

I find I can’t stop, I only manage to tell her to stop. To “_please stop _.” I beg her through a fit of laughter, holding my aching sides, and flailing my hands over her face. She slaps my hand away, pouts, and sits back. She crosses her arms against her chest. She looks away from me annoyed, tapping her foot in what looks like a fury. It’s only now that I can begin to calm down, I wipe my tears with the back of my hand, the giggling still present but slowly residing. 

“_Sorry_.” I manage after a while, the last giggle escaping from my mouth like a hiccup. 

“What’s wrong with you?” She asks spitefully. 

“I don’t know,” I respond honestly. 

Her face is hard and unyielding as she faces me. The look of her, along with my previous fit of laughter, makes my head go all light. _ What’s wrong with me? I wanted to see you too_, I’d like to say but can’t, _ I always want to see you_. 

  
  


Arya 

I lay on my side. It’s cold. Colder than I’d like it to be, colder than I’m used to. My wet hair sticks to my face. The hot shower helped, but not as much as I would have liked. I bring the heavy blanket over my body and shiver. Nymeria stares at me with her large golden eyes before jumping on the bed beside me, providing me with more warmth. “Thank you, Nymeria.” She whines and licks my face before laying back down and sighing. It’s late, the halls outside are quiet, and it’s been hours since supper. The dim oil lantern flickers and the window from outside rattles from the storm, and sends a draft seeping into the room. I close my eyes tightly and hold myself. 

The chill from earlier this morning never left me, when I went to visit Gendry above the wall. I could still see it. The snow, the trees below, the sky, the clouds floating past. _ The North is beautiful_. More in a scary way than a _ pretty _way, I suppose. Gendry did not seem all too impressed. Nothing really impressed him or even surprised him. I sat with him for hours. The hospital unit had been awfully quiet as of late, and I doubted anyone, even Jeyne, would even notice I was gone.

Gendry had looked older and harder in the establishment’s gear. The dark hat upon his head had made his blue eyes look luminous. His black hair jutted out, it was getting long. Our meeting wasn’t great. It felt like there was a wall between us, and many silent moments, at least at first. I told him I wanted to see him, he laughed at me, we sat, and then he told me about the supreme leader Stannis, of his witch, of their sudden interest in him. He seemed unphased about it all, shrugging it off, insisting he didn’t care about possible blood relatives. 

“Blood is not so important. People just want something to hold on to.” 

“That’s not true.” 

“Of course you would say that, you were gifted with a _ good _family.” 

_Family _... It sounded like a bad word as of late. I didn’t want to bicker with Gendry, especially not now. I know I should’ve been happy for him, happy that he’s found some members of his ... _family,_ but I couldn’t. I only felt sad for him, sad and slightly protective. 

I held his large coat closer to my body. “I don’t know. _ Maybe _ ... if it’s _true_. It might explain a lot.” He had said it suddenly after a long silence with the sounds of powerful winds pushing through the glass. He averted his attention to the sniper in front of him, fretting with it aimlessly. 

I twisted my mouth while I thought about Robert Baratheon, my father’s best friend. My expression turned sour quickly. I sat up. Gendry looked at me with his eyes wide. “It wouldn’t explain anything except your looks!” I snapped. “I’ve met him, Gendry. He was vile. A fat drunken oaf ... You’re _ nothing _ like him…” My hand was on his arm, gripping him much too hard. I let go of him as soon as I noticed. I caught him smiling. 

We sat and talked for a while. I willingly ignored the frostbite, telling myself that my body wasn’t so easily susceptible to the cold. I felt my limbs stiffen as I told him of Shireen, of the people of the Hospital unit, of _ Jeyne_, and _ Willow_, who he said he knew _a little_. He told me of his new room, how he didn’t get roomed with Hot Pie, and how he _supposedly _didn’t care. He told me of Hot Pie, of his ... _ loneliness_. Except he didn’t call it that, instead he said, “the more people around, the easier it is to feel alone. I like this in the Riverlands, or in that little white house ...” His words reminded me of Jon. Who, many years ago, in the Estate, had said something similar.

_ “Stop worrying about me, little sister. I often feel this way. People don’t help with loneliness, they only make it worse. Only you make it better. Well, you and Ghost.” _

_ Jon_. The second I mentioned him to Gendry his mood shifted again, the wall that had fallen, came back up again. I told him Jon said something like that before too, and how I didn’t understand it much, because in my case, people could often help me with feeling less alone, less lethargic, especially if they were kind to me. Gendry didn’t understand that. Or perhaps didn’t feel like talking to me much longer. His body was facing away from mine, and his eye was looking through the sniper’s scope. I doubted he could see anything with the heavy snow, and breeze, but it didn’t stop him. 

I stood at once and took off his coat, dropping it on the bench beside him. “I should get back.”

“Yeah, you should.” His tone was harsh, as was natural for Gendry. 

I could feel my teeth chattering, I could not stop shaking, no matter how hard I tried. I brought my hands to my mouth and blew on them, I could hardly feel my fingers. I turned towards the door, but before I could pull it open, and expose myself to the icy air, I remembered. Remembered _that_. “Oh, Gendry. You don’t have to worry anymore ... _if_ you ever were. About _ that_.” 

“About what?” He spat. 

I swallowed. “Jon made me ... _moon tea_.”

_ “Moon tea _ ...” He mumbled looking away. His hard jaw clenched. “ _ Of course _ ...” He looked angry. Silently angry. 

I said it before I could stop myself. “I'm sorry.” I don’t know _why_ I said it, or _what_ I was sorry about really. 

“Is that all?” He asked, looking almost ... _ despondent_.

“Yes,” I answered. A second later the cold bit my exposed skin, and I left, back to where I ought to have been. 

... 

I wake up to the touch of a hand on my forehead. “_ Arya _ ...” And the sensation of a stuffy nose. I open my eyes and see the cracked ceiling and a blurry Jon staring at me from above. I rub my eyes and begin to sit up. I feel his hand on my arm steadying me. I rub my eyes again. “Are you alright? You felt a little warm.” I nod. 

I can see him clearly now. The light’s dim and it’s probably well into the night. He sits on the edge of the bed in his thin undershirt and sweats like he’s ready for bed. His dark brown hair is long, reaching his shoulders. It’s almost as wild as Gendry’s but straighter and less voluminous. “Did you eat?” He asks calmly. 

“You know you don’t have to coddle me.” I protest but it comes out in a croak. I clear my throat. “I can take care of myself,” I say before having to clear my throat again. 

“I know that I just-”

“Yes,” I answer. “I ate.” I smile at him and his dark eyes land on me. Ghost approaches me to greet me, his steps are almost entirely silent. Nymeria’s now closely behind him, no longer on the bed next to me keeping me warm. I feel his sticky tongue lick at the sides of my right arm. I stroke his fur, his red eyes staring deeply into mine. 

“Where’d you go? During your morning duty?” Jon asks quietly. 

I sit up, perhaps _too _energetically. “_What_? I didn’t think anyone noticed! Who told?” Ghost dismisses himself from my mindless fondling, stepping away from the bed and returning to his place beside Nymeria on the floor. 

Jon chuckles. “No one told. I was talking to Stannis and we stumbled upon the Hospital Unit.” 

“_Oh_.” 

“_Right_.” Jon continues. “Jeyne and Alynne said you’re usually with Shireen before lunchtime, but you weren’t. Stannis wanted to see her, discuss what can be done with her…” 

“_What can be done with her!? _ What does that mean?” 

“Means she’s getting worse, little sister. Quicker than anyone would have thought. These tests seem to be … wearing her down ... ” 

“Then you should stop them!” 

“What good would it do to prolong her suffering that way?” Jon climbs into the bed and plops himself next to me, his back leaning against the bed’s headboard. I turn to my head to face him and study him as he pushes his hair out of his face and sighs. His eyes land on me, his face only inches from mine. “She’s _ sick_, Arya.” He says gently.

“I know that.”

“From now on, it’s best you leave her be. Don’t go inside her room anymore. Someone else will bring her her meals from now on.” 

“_Someone else? _” 

“Yes, someone else,” he says sternly. 

I look down at my lap and bring the covers up to my neck. I can feel Jon’s eyes on me. I shiver. My thoughts go to Shireen. The last time I saw her she’d been huddled over a bucket, heaving. She’d been too weak to speak to me, even too weak to read. All her books laid on the floor, scattered. She said she was feeling hot, _ awfully hot_. That had usually been the first sign of _turning_. The excruciating heat. Her profuse sweating had made her long black hair damp. Wet strands stuck to her red swollen face. She cried. “_I don’t want my father to see me like this_,” she had said a couple of days ago. “ _ I want him to know that I can handle all this. I can handle it _ ...” 

I close my eyes as I attempt to remove the image from my head. 

“I’ll find something else for you, Arya.” I open my eyes startled. Jon is staring at me, his dark eyes concerned. “If it’s all too much ... you can tell me.” 

“I know.” I insist. “It’s _not. _ I’m alright. _ Truly_.” 

“_Okay_.” He says, still staring. 

I look away and lay back down on my back, sinking into covers, and bringing them over my face to cover my reddening face from his gaze. I think he notices because he looks away as well, and smiles to himself. For a second he looks like the young green boy he had been in Winterfell. But that vision fades quickly. The person before me is a grown man now, scarred and hardened. He lays down beside me, over the covers. The storm outside rumbles and I feel a cool draft enter the cold narrow room. He lays with his hands under his head, staring into the ceiling in thought.

“I can go ... if you want.” 

“I don’t want.” He says spaced out. 

I cover my entire face this time. His comforter is engulfed in his smell. I inhale, the way I used to when I was a mere child. I find I can’t stop myself from smiling. It was often that we’d share a bed in the estate. Sometimes it’d be all of us, _ Bran_, _ Rickon_, and sometimes Robb, but never Sansa. But more often than not, it was just Jon and I. I’d pursue him in his room, my pillow under my arms, as light on my feet as possible, careful not to be seen by someone who could tell my mother. His door would always be unlocked. His room was the coldest and the smallest. I’d slip inside, and he’d be asleep already. I’d scoot close to him for warmth and he’d flinch. “_Gods, Arya. Your feet are frozen solid_.” He’d complain sleepily before drifting back to deep sleep after taking me into his arms. 

Except now, It feels a bit _different_. I bite my lip. 

“What are you doing under there?” Jon asks. 

I bring the covers down, exposing my face to the crisp air again. “Thinking.” 

“About what?” 

“_This place_. _ Shireen_. _ You_.” 

“_Me? _” He asks, still staring at nothing. 

“Is it safe here?” 

“What? _ Arya _... of course it’s safe.” 

“I wonder.” 

“I get it too. _ The bad feeling_. But I haven’t gotten it much since you came home.” 

“_Home_,” I mumble, with a smile on my face suddenly. “That white house in the Wolfswood always gave me a bad feeling in my stomach, but today, when I was above the wall, it felt peaceful.”

Jon snaps his head in my direction, frowning. “You went up there?” 

“Yeah, I went to see ... Gendry.” 

Jon sighs heavily, turning his head in the direction of the ceiling again. He rubs his eyebrow, clearly distressed. He doesn’t seem to like Gendry very much. I know _the incident_ must’ve painted Gendry in a bad light. Perhaps getting Jon involved in all that was stupid. 

“Gendry’s not who you think,” I say. “_That _… in the hospital unit, it was an isolated incident.” 

“You mean you’d only fucked the once or he’d only fucked up the once.” The words came out like fire. Hot and mean. 

“That’s not what I meant,” I said, startled by his bluntness. “I mean we fight all the time but-”

“You _ fight _?” 

“It’s not like that, we _ squabble_!” 

“How many times have you two laid together? When did it first happen?” He asks.

I feel myself turn scarlet with embarrassment. “That’s not any of your concern! Are you going to tell me about all the girls _ you’ve _ fucked ... _ when _ and _ how _it happened _too_?” 

"I-" Jon starts then stops. He lays on his side, turning to face me. He stares at me, deep in thought, almost like he's studying me. His eyes go from my eyes to my lips and back to my eyes. He's struggling to find the right thing to say, I can tell. He sighs again before laying on his back again. “It’s not my concern.” He confirms, mumbling, and rubbing his face. “_You’re right_.” He says almost gloomily. “Let’s just ... go to sleep.” 

I nod. I bring the blanket over his legs as he leans away to turn off the oil lantern on the bedside. A second later, the room is almost pitch black. I’d never seen it _this _dark before. The girl’s room never got too dark, the girls would only dim the lights, which was considered an offense a “waste of resources,” apparently. I understood why they did it. The darkness had the tendency to be intimidating. Though, I knew part of it had to do with Nymeria. The girls didn’t like Nymeria, or remotely trust her. Whenever she’d walk in behind me, they’d make themselves as small as possible. I never want to sleep in the girl’s room again, I think when I catch her golden eyes and Ghost’s red eyes almost glowing in the darkness.

Jon accommodates on his side of the bed, bringing the blanket over his chest. The cracks from the entrance bring in a little bit of light inside the room. We both lay on our backs, the sides of our arms and legs touching. The bed’s smaller than I thought. My heart pounds in my chest. The winter storm outside is rampant. I hear distant soldiers yelling commands at one another and the wind’s whistling and howling. I think about Jon, how he sleeps here alone. So alone. And the thought makes me sad. I turn to lay on my side, facing him. I can make out _some _of his face in the darkness. 

In Winterfell, he’d always be so alone. Eating alone, often not joining the boys, almost always so somber, always sulking. There were times when I’d feel out of place too, but never when I was with him. 

_ People don’t help with loneliness, they only make it worse. Only you make it better. _

I think of those words, of _that _day. It wasn’t so long before our parting. _ Our parting _ ... I find myself compulsively grabbing his left arm, and wrapping my arms around it, my forehead pressing onto his shoulder. 

“Someone should always stay in here with you, Jon. Just because you’re a commander doesn’t mean you should be sleeping by yourself all the time.” _Jon. Always so alone. _“I know you’d probably prefer it if it was Val or-”

“_Shhh_!” He interjects suddenly turning onto his side to face me, his arm disconnecting from my grasp on it. He moves in closer to me, slipping his leg in between mine, and slipping his left-arm under me to wrap both his arms around me. A soft noise slips out of my mouth. It’s something between a gasp and a whimper, I think he misses it for he only pulls me closer. I start to feel dizzy all of a sudden, two cups of wine with dinner type of dizzy. 

  
Our limbs feel almost tangled with one another’s. The warmness feels nice, I forget how the cold felt just moments ago. My palms lay flat on his chest and his light breath lands on my forehead. I feel his fingertips pressing onto my back, moving in subtle circles. His other hand motionless over my neck and shoulder. I scoot in closer, pressing my face into his chest. _ And then there’s that smell again, Jon’s smell, Winterfell’s smell. Home. _ I sigh, closing my eyes in bliss. _ Jon. Everything that concerns me, concerns you too. My Jon._


	14. All The Ways

Val 

I sit on my bed as I watch the storm raging still. The bleak daylight enters my room. The crisp air that lingers is sharp. From above here I can see everything, where the wall starts, where it ends. I can see snow-coated trees in the far north, north towards the place I used to call home._ I should’ve never left. _ My bones were made for the withholding of low temperatures, for _fresh air_, and _rush_. I was never meant to be enclosed within walls, within _ a _wall. 

The sickness was never meant to get so out of hand. I remember being a child, running back and forth in the snow. The infected weren’t people, weren’t true. They were only horror stories we shared around campfires. I breathe._ No one ever imagined it would get so out of hand_, I think again. It’s untrue until it happens to _you_, until it’s _ your _family that’s foaming at the mouth, becoming story monsters before your very eyes. 

There’s a knock in the door, a _ familiar _ knock I don’t bother to answer to. I sit back on the made bed, hearing it creak. I bring my hair over my right shoulder and run my fingers through it. It still feels damp. “Val?” I hear _ his _ voice. _ The commander’s voice_. “Val, open the door, I know you’re in there.” I roll my eyes and grab the brush from the counter. 

“Come in,” I say before beginning to brush out my hair. I sit with my back towards the door, still overlooking the gray sky and the white flurries that rain down from it. I hear his footsteps, hear some chatter coming into the room from the hall. Ghost’s steps are barely audible but I take note of them. The door closes a second later and the room comes to a still. 

“It’s not like you to start the day so late.” 

“Everyone seems to be absent from their duties from time to time, why can’t I?” My hair feels a little dry and brittle against my palms. I brush out the knots with hard yanks. 

“I never said you can’t, just that it’s unlike you.” 

“What do _ you _ know about what’s _ unlike _me?” I ask while jerking my brush through a particularly stubborn knot. 

Jon steps forward, moving towards me silently. “_Erm- _” Jon sits on the bed next to me, my back still facing him. “I’d say quite a bit.” He says, sounding uncertain. 

_Quite a bit_. I turn, taking a look at him with the side of my eye. He’s sitting farther away than I originally thought, and Ghost is sitting by his feet, Jon’s fingers caressing his fur. Usually, the wolfdog would greet me, but today he doesn’t. I continue to brush my hair as a certain silence falls in between us. I can hear a commotion from the halls and Ghost’s panting. The wind outside howls, and makes the snow from the prior storm dance off the wall’s surface. _Pretty pure white snow_. 

I run my fingers through my hair, searching for any knots I might have missed. I begin to braid my hair, my back facing Jon again, though it’s not my intent. He doesn’t say anything again, only sits on the floor, with his back against the bed, roughhousing a bit with Ghost. I catch their reflection through the glass window. The white wolfdog is massive, more than capable of overpowering Jon if he wanted. Instead, he only nibbles on Jon’s hand and licks at his face nudging him, his tail wagging so hard and fast it looks like it might fall off his body. I can hear Jon’s light giggles. I find myself close to smiling, but stop myself just in time. 

When my braid is done, I tie a tiny worn-out elastic at the end. I throw my hair back and feel my braid slap against my back. I stand, moving towards the desk on the other side of the room. Upon it are a holster and two pistols. I grab it, feeling the cold leather on my fingertips. I slide my right arm inside first, and then the left, I could feel their eyes on me as I do. I make sure the pistols have the safety on before sliding them inside their designated sockets. 

“Shall we?” He asks sitting in a relaxed manner, with one knee up and the other straight out on the floor. Ghost licks his face again before sitting back beside him. Jon’s eyes give off that sleepy-look, though he looks well-rested enough overall. His brown hair looks tousled, half-up, and half-down. 

“_We?_” 

I find I like it best when I speak to Stannis, Selyse, and Melisandre _ alone _ , without Jon. It seemed, as of late, that I’m more often on the same page with the supreme leader than Jon. Jon’s a good commander, benevolent, _ most _ of the time. He listens, he helps, he works. But at times, I felt he was _ awfully _liberal, liberal to a fault. The supreme leader’s rigidness and straightforward attitude, I dare say, had begun to resonate with me deeply. 

“_We_.” He confirms, furrowing his eyebrow. “Is something the matter?” 

“Of course not, _ commander_,” I say turning and clasping the holster’s clip buckles under my breasts. 

“_Really?_ Sounds like there’s something on your mind there.” 

I scoff, turning to face him. “I just think conversations with Stannis are often more productive without _ you _or Davos.” 

“Is that right?” 

I nod stiffly. 

Jon stands at once, our eyes finally leveled. He’s fast, a sudden energy posses him all of a sudden. “You’ve been speaking to the supreme leader? _ Without _ me?” He closes in on me, stepping quietly and _intensely_. I find I’m walking backward and away from him. I feel my rear hit the desk. I stop. I watch him walk a couple more steps towards me until our faces are inches from one another’s. 

“I have.”

He presses his fingers on his lips, pausing, _ thinking_. “ _ Surely _ … _ surely_, it’s not _ you _that’s behind the smaller portions, Val.” His voice is low. I look down, my hands tightly gripping on the wood. 

“Not _ you _ behind the abysmal amount of tests being done on Shireen Baratheon.” Jon’s voice is almost a whisper now. A _ menacing _whisper. 

“It’s so easy to vilify,” I swallow, “the ones making the hard choices.” I lean on the counter now, my palms against it feeling clammy. 

“Stannis’s words?” 

“No. _ Mine_.” I stand up tall and push him away, out of my way. I find it difficult to look him in the eyes. I try to walk past him and flee, but he grabs my arm and pulls me back. I turn, his pull is forceful. I can see the gray of his dark eyes, his hard jaw clenching, his long face solemn. 

“Every day I think I know you less.” 

I think back to all those days ago when I found him and his cousin _ together _ . Together in his room. They had _ only _ been sleeping, or so I tell myself. Her face looked soft and gentle, as did his. He had his arms wrapped around her torso, his head on his pillow with his mouth slightly ajar. She had been almost hidden, with her head against his chest, her arms in fists against her chest. They were clothed, I wasn’t sure I would have been surprised if they weren’t, but they were. From the end of the covers, their socked feet popped out, entangled in one another’s. _ An energy _ almost pulled me out of the room, that, and Arya’s wolf beginning to growl at my presence. Ghost only stared. I closed the door behind me quietly, before the beast could wake them, and went silently on my way. 

“I feel the same way, Jon.” 

I’m suddenly wondering _ why _ he has done the things he’s done. I find myself questioning his motivations, his credibility, his concern for _ my _ well being, if he had any left, or ever did in the first place. Looking at him now, I feel confused, and my heart feels fractured. I don’t know this man before me. His face is hard, and his eyes are expressive and benign, but foreign suddenly. The only thing I know Jon loves for sure is that white red-eyed wolfdog, and his skinny loud-mouthed cousin. Most things about him are so _unclear_. He’s as mysterious as that wolf of his.

Another thing’s clear. I think it better to keep it to myself, but as I watch him walk away from me, walk away _ again _ , the words slip out. “She’s going to be the end of you. Soon the ice is going to thaw, and the birds will come out to sing, and the air will smell sweet. It’ll all be back to how it was … but _ you_, _ you _won’t be there to see it.” 

Jon 

_ The halls are cold and dark. I feel my feet press onto the chilled tile. Beyond that, I can’t make out much. The moonlight shines from the tall glass windows ahead. There’s a source of light coming from one of the rooms nearby. The surroundings look like the Hospital Unit, but it’s too dark to be completely sure. I step forward, moving towards that light. Ghost walks beside me, as nervous as me. “What’s happening?” I hear my voice call out to no one and nothing in particular. _

_ I feel a sting against my skin. And then quickly after, a yelp, a wolf yelp. I turn to Ghost, who stands with his ears up and his teeth barred, silently looking on. He hears it too. My heart stops. My surroundings seem to almost slow down as I run down the hall towards the glowing room. The yelps follow with sounds of howling, so piercing and melancholy. _

_ When I reach the room, I bang on it’s grid-textured window. I can’t make anything out except for a couple of bodies moving about, talking. I bolt towards the door, going into my pockets for my keys, but pulling out nothing but lint. “Open the door!” I shout. “Open the fucking door!” Ghost growls beside me, scratching the door as furiously as I’m shoving it. I hear voices of protest on the other side. The howling gone and all that remains is an overbearing ringing in my ear that springs from my growing rage. _

_ I begin to push on the door with all my weight, and all my might, running into the frame repeatedly. The screams of protest become louder. “We don’t answer to you anymore!” Someone said amidst the crunching of the wooden door beginning to finally bulge. Pieces of wood fly as the door slams open and I crash into the room. “Commander! You can’t be in here!” Someone yells again. I can see them now; two physicians in black scrubs, surgical masks on their faces, their gloved hands stained with a dark liquid. _

_ I look around the room in a craze, crawling around before even thinking to stand again. The fluorescents are bright against my face. The physicians bring their arms out in alarm, both blocking the hospital bed behind them. “Move.” I heave, Ghost growls. “Move!” I repeat shoving them out of the way aggressively. Ghost bites into one of their arms, their shouts and pleading banging in my eardrums. I push the other shaking man aside and then I see it, I see what they were keeping me from. _

_ A young girl, a young woman now. Her skin pale, and her lips blue. I freeze. A dark blanket covers her from the shoulders down. Ghost must’ve released the man as the room falls into an eerie silence and I no longer feel their presence. I step towards the body, uncertain. Her short brown hair covers part of her face, and I move it away with my finger before cupping her cheek. My lip trembles. I feel hands grasp at my heart, pressing with mighty pressure. I feel it burst and gush and suddenly I can’t breathe. _

...

I gasp fighting for my breath, suddenly sitting up with a jerk. I grip at my throat. My surroundings change from white luminous lighting to almost complete darkness. It feels like an eternity but I finally manage to exhale and inhale in a steady pattern. My breath is short, as my hands go from my neck to my chest. “_Jon?_” Her voice calls from beside me. “_What’s happening_?” 

“Nothing.” I assure her, though my voice comes out raspy and winded. “Bad dream. Go back to sleep.” I run my fingers through my tangled hair, my heart still pounding in my chest. The nightmare continues to linger even as I begin to become fully re-acquaintanced with the real world before me. I rub my face and attempt to breathe normally again, steadily through my nose.

“Jon.” Arya sits up, her sleepy voice hoarse. I turn to face her. Her eyes are barely open. I become completely still beside her. _ Still _, as she plants her palm on my back, and begins to stroke it. Back and forth, her touch so comforting, and lovely. “You scared me.” Her voice is shaky but forceful. I find her eyes in the darkness of the room, big and fierce. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to,” I whisper, my body finally beginning to relax. 

“Don’t be stupid.” She says. Arya throws herself back on the bed, plopping down on her back. I don’t have time to study her face or the way her shirt rides up to her bellybutton. Suddenly she’s extending her arms towards me. 

“What?” I ask.

“Come here.” She says.

I shake my head, trying to tame the grin that’s slowly growing on my face. “It was only a dream, little sister. I thought you were-” 

“_Now_.” she presses, her hands still extended, her fingers now wiggling about. “_Please_,” she says as if she’s just remembered her manners all of a sudden. I’m already smiling like an idiot, like a _ bloody dolt _.

“Alright,” I say as I lay back down on the bed beside her, letting her hold me in those skinny arms of hers. She wraps them around my shoulders, in the same manner I would’ve in Winterfell on the days when she’d climb into my bed after having a nightmare. I place my head on her chest, wrapping my arms around her waist. “Am I crushing you, little sister?” 

“Yes.” She says, sounding strained. “But I like it. _ So much _.” She holds me closer, and I do the same. I feel her plant a kiss at the top of my head, before moving one of her hands to run her fingers through my hair. I could feel her heart beating against my ear, hear her sweet and soft little breaths. I feel my eyes roll back with bliss as her fingers begin massaging my scalp warmly. I rub my legs over her smooth ones under the covers, getting as close as I can. 

“_I love you_.” The words slip out, hardly a foreign exchange of words between us, but they send a pang of adrenaline back into my chest this time. I don’t wait for a reaction, only bury my face deeper into her chest, basking in the smell of her. She smells like little Arya, my little sister, but also something completely different. It’s the scent that fogs my vision, and brings me to a place I’ve never known, somewhere seemingly otherworldly. 

“_I love you too, Jon_.”

... 

_A young woman_ _floats before me. Lithe and melancholy. Her hair is long, brown, and full of blue flowers. She touches my face, her hands bloody. And she speaks but her words don’t reach me. She’s got Arya’s face, but she’s older, and her eyes are a darker gray. She’s got a sad face, and the feel of her fingers on my cheeks feel blissful. “Jon. My Jon.” She says before beginning to fade away. Her cargo pants and blood-stained gray-shirt turn into a white dress, so clean it glows. _

_ “Please don’t leave.” I plead but she only smiles sadly, continuing to fade until she’s completely gone. _

…

_ I search for those golden eyes. The smell around her is intoxicating. It does not come from the food below me. My stomach is heavy. Food no longer seems to have its charm, it’s appeal. I push the food away. I sit beside the body next to me, pushing the bowl toward them until they notice. Until I’ve gotten the attention of the golden eyes again. _

... 

I wake up to find myself alone in my room. No Ghost, or Nymeria.No Arya. From the light, it still looks early enough. I find it harder than usual to stand from the bed so I don’t. My limbs feel stiff from the cold that enters through the cracks of the window. I stare at the ceiling, recalling the young woman that was above me in my dreams not too long ago. I reach out to her, and before I know it, there are acidic tears falling from the corners of my eyes. 

I turn to my side, the gloomy daylight setting over the room. I sigh, grabbing the dark headrest, the one Arya made a habit to lay on, over my face. It’s so like her to wake up early, to want to speak to people. To _start _the days. Those days on the run did nothing to tame her energy, or her need to make friends. I suppose I didn’t share that enthusiasm with her, at least not as wholeheartedly. I hold the black pillow against my face, and press hard, letting the smell suffocate me. I inhale, turning on my stomach and clutching the pillow in my fists. 

I find my toes curling from the scent alone, my grip becoming harder. I turn again eagerly, on my back, with the pillow still against my face. I take a breath before suffocating in it again, hugging it over my face. A heat surges through my body. I find my thoughts morphing from hopeless melancholy to hunger. To longing. To … I yank the covers off my body, suddenly immune to the frigid air. I feel as the bulge in my pants begins to grow, a small sound escaping my lips. The door looks unlocked, but I don’t have the will to stand and lock it for the growing lust cripples me from any _ other _endeavor. 

I lower my sweat pants with one hand while clutching the headrest with the other. I pull myself out of my pants, my hardening length throbbing inside my palms. A small groan escapes my lips again. I put the pillow down, for just a second, before sitting up to take my shirt off, pulling it over my head and throwing it across the room impatiently. I grab the pillow with my left hand and hold it against my nose again. I bring my right-hand over my face and spit into it before meeting it with my length again. I wrap my fingers around the head of my cock, pre-cum settling at the tip. I begin massaging the liquid around the head with my index finger before beginning to stroke myself slowly. _ Gently_. _ Nicely_. _ So nicely_. 

My thoughts begin to wander, to stray into places they’ve no business straying. They stray to last night, to Arya sleeping, facing me, her shirt riding up to her stomach, pantsless, her smooth naked leg in between mine, brushing against my groin. I think back to the night that Arya took that moontea, the night where she told me _ everything _ , the night where I’d _ seen _ her. _ Inside and out_. The sight of her pink pert nipples still fresh in my mind even after all these weeks later. “_Arya_,” I huff, pumping back and forth inside my hand.   
  


I think about her coming inside the room, her short brown tousled hair, her rosy cheeks. I think about her smirking, slamming the door to a close behind her. I think about her tearing off her clothes and standing before me glowing. I think about her thin body, pretty, agile, and foreign._ A woman’s body_. I think about her crawling on top of me, her gray eyes intense, her enthusiasm wild. I think about her hands slipping inside my hair, grabbing it in fists, pulling it. I think about her biting my bottom lip before pressing her mouth hungrily on mine. _ Her scent_. I inhale.

I think about laying my hands on her, on her beautiful face, her long neck, her perky teats. I think about the sweet suppressed sound she’d make as I massage her teats tenderly. She calls my name as the tip of my tongue moves around her nipples in agonizing circles before putting one in my mouth and sucking hungrily. I think about her calling out my name._ Jon. Jon. Jon. _I think about her begging for me to fuck her. 

I pump faster now, getting closer and closer to my peak. I hear commotion arising from the halls but find it feels _ too good _ to possibly stop. I feel it, that crippling sweet feeling, rising from my chest and over to the head of my cock, making my head feel light. I groan, and a second later, I spill all over my hand. I tremble, another moan slipping from my mouth as I climax. 

I open my eyes and find my vision blurry and my breath is short. Guilt consumes me shortly after. I feel faint and heavy as I pull my pants back up and wipe my hands inside them. I look to the door and find it looks exactly the same as before, with light and commotion coming out through the creaks. I sit up to feel the room spin. I wonder when the last time I’ve had a proper meal was. The dreams I’ve been having are bad enough on their own, but that’s not all they were bringing forth. I’ve been filled with anxiety, a sort of nervousness that makes me shake with fear like a proper craven. 

_ What’s wrong with me? _ I think as I begin to get dressed for the day, as I begin to think back to what I’d just done several minutes prior. As I tie the laces of my boots, my hands tremble, and sweat runs down my face. _ What’s wrong with me? _ My thoughts go to my nightmares and my last conversation with Val, and then back to Arya. Euphoria and dread battle within me, one after the other. And I’m not sure which emotion to cling to, which is _safer_. _ Neither _are, I realize almost instantly. _ What is wrong with me? _

...

I sit with Pyp and Grenn in the kitchen-lounge hybrid, listening to them blabbering amongst one another once more. Ghost is finally beside me, his appetite as dull as my own. I poke at soggy radishes with my fork, watching them droop down the metal and onto my tray, before sticking them with my fork again. I feel Pyp and Grenn staring at me, but pretending they’re not. I want to say something, to carry on with mindless chatter about the weather, or the latest rumor circulating the Black Union, but even that feels exhausting to do. 

“Are you alright?” Pyp asks me suddenly and the question almost annoys me. 

“Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“I don’t know,” Pyp responds awkwardly. “You seem a bit-”

“Brooding,” Grenn interjects. 

“I thought that was normal for me.” 

“It is.” Pyp continues. “Just seems ... _ worse _.” 

“Yeah, definitely worse than ever.” Grenn echoes. 

“I don’t know. I suppose it’s ... a lot of _ little _things.” I tell them truthfully, shrugging. 

“Surely you can tell us.” Pyp says and Grenn nods after. I look over to them and find I can never tell them _ everything _ . They wouldn’t understand. Their eyes stare into mine deeply, genuine concern plastered on their faces. I find I owe it to them to tell them _ something _, even if telling them everything was not a possibility.

I sit up and push my tray aside. “The supreme leader’s up to something. And Val she’s ...” 

“Has she broke your heart, commander?” Grenn asks stupidly. Pyp punches him in the arm a second later, rolling his eyes as Grenn grins and clutches at where Pyp hit him. 

“I wouldn’t say that,” I say. I recall seeing her earlier, passing her in the halls, her face hard and unyielding, much like the supreme leader’s in a way. She pretended not to notice me, and I did the same.

“Do you think Val’s fucking him? The supreme leader?” Grenn asks, genuinely.

“Of course not,” I answer and he gives me a face of uncertainty, like he thinks I’m lying or in some kind of denial about it. I roll my eyes and Pyp sighs in irritation. 

“He does seem to be seducing the people of the Black Union well enough though, don’t he?” Pyp asks, sitting up, his large ears almost wiggling as he begins to become more engaged in the conversation. “Supreme leader _ this_, supreme leader _ that _.” Pypar shakes his head. “Everywhere he goes, people are ready to get on their knees and suck his cock.” 

“He’s not even the true heir, his brother’s youngest son still lives, don’t he?” Grenn asks. 

“That doesn’t matter,” I say. “His claim is good enough. People will back him up if he helps them. People just need someone strong, someone, who can take care of them.” 

“And you reckon that’s Stannis?” Pyp asks. 

“Perhaps. I mean I-once thought it could have been _ me _ .” I think back to the last couple of days. How the people’s moods towards me slightly shifted. I’m still greeted by the people of the Black Union, but they no longer nod or look down, no longer become stiff as they once did. It might seem like a minuscule detail, but it’s not. _ Not to me _ . Leadership was such a fragile thing, Val always told me as much, as did my father. More than anything, I find the people, _ my people_, become stiff when it comes to Stannis and his Red Witch passing through. “But I’m not fit to rule over anyone. Not anymore.” 

“That’s not true.” Grenn states and Pyp nods. 

“They’ve forgotten who their _ true _ commander is, but all you need is to remind them.” Pyp leans in. “Stannis Baratheon is but a guest here. If his intentions are to aid the people of Westeros, then he’s got nothing on you. If he expects something from you, it’s all part of an _ agenda _.” 

“We’ve all got our own agendas, Pyp. And his are true enough. He’s willing to sacrifice his own daughter for it. _ For duty _.” 

“How’d you figure that?” 

“She’s being poked and prodded like a lab rat.” I state bluntly. “She’s dying. Slowly and painfully.” 

I sigh. A brief silence falls among us. I drop my fork and look down. Grabbing at the meat on my tray. My stomach still feels awfully heavy and sickly. I feed Ghost the small piece of deer meat from under the table, and he grabs it unenthusiastically, licking then nibbling. 

“Well …” Grenn says, breaking the silence. “I can’t respect no man like that.”

“Like what?” 

“A man who can just trade his daughter’s life for others. If his own daughter isn’t safe, who is?” 

“That’s one way to see it,” I say. 

“Grenn is right,” Pyp says. “You’re better. I would choose you a thousand times over Stannis Baratheon, I don’t care how much food and resources he brings in. We’re obviously not seeing any of it anyway.” He gestures to his sad tray. “We were doing fine without him. We have the harvest and the hunt, and we’ve got good teachers, and books, and Aemon! We don’t _need _him. We _ never _have.” 

“But isn’t _the cure_ why people follow him?” Grenn asks. 

“_ The cure_, _ vaccines_, they’re all just fantasies. _ Right, Jon _?” 

“I don’t know. I’m not sure,” I say looking away.

“Well, we’ll get there._ One day_. The point is we don’t need Stannis.” 

“Right,” I say with uncertainty. 

... 

I stare at the ceiling. The night is cold but still and quiet. The storms felt more comforting somehow. Spring feels like an eternity away still, though that’s not the truth of it. Most times it feels like time is passing too slowly, but never when I’m with _her_, holding her in bed. I sigh, and sink deeper into her, my not-so-little sister, as my mind begins to race in the darkness. 

Today had felt long and arduous. Just one distasteful thing after the other. I spoke to Stannis alone. First, we spoke about Val. About my discomfort with their partaking in meetings without me. He only said he thought I’d known of them and that he will not continue without me next time, though his tone sounded almost _insincere_. And his eyes, his dark blue eyes were hard, and rarely met with mine. He then said I am not to meddle in things pertaining to _his daughter_, and shortly dismissed me after that. 

Something else that struck me as odd was his newly-appointed guard. His guard looked a bit like him as he stood outside his door. _ Gendry_. I had stationed him above the Wall, a duty that most newcomers would’ve possessed for at least four moons. But Not _ Gendry_. He was moving up somehow, but not through _me_. My eyes landed on his, and his on mine. A tall stocky build, bright blue eyes, and black hair. He never smiled, and his mannerisms were dull and suspicious. “_Commander _.” He mumbled looking away right after. 

“How’s the shoulder?” I asked him as I gripped the gun at my holster.

“Healed.” 

“Good to hear,” I said, catching the insincerity in my own voice. 

He nodded. 

“How’s your new post?” 

He paused and threw me a look. “I’m not really one for small talk, _ commander _.” 

“It’s not small talk,” I pressed. “May I ask … who promoted you?” Gendry took his time to answer. He shrugged, and then the tall young man looked at me, his face hard and unyielding. With one more deep look into his eyes, I understood. _ What are the fucking chances? _

“I wouldn’t call it a promotion.” 

I stared back at him and waited for a proper response, his mocking tone was making my blood boil. I thought back to those circulating _ rumors_, back to Arya, back to that night where she had said the words, _ “Gendry came inside me.” _ My grip tightened around my gun. For a second, I thought I could kill him. 

“_Melisandre_.” He said dryly. “It was _ her _idea.” 

I nodded and turned my back to Gendry, and walked away without saying another word. The halls were empty, they were almost always empty at the top floor of the resident hall. A chilly draft lingered and pierced my skin through my layer of black thermals. I sighed. I felt weak. Ghost was not beside me. As of lately, he seemed interested in no one but Nymeria. Everyone seemed eager to let me go, to move forth with other people. _ A bastard never meant to inherit … never meant to lead. _

_ If I ever saw that eagerness in Arya, an eagerness to be with Gendry, to not want me as she once did so dearly, I think I might wither. Might wither way, might plummet down seven-hundred feet to my death. _

“_Jon_.” I freeze.

“Are you awake?” The sound of her voice crashing against the silence, against the rowdy thoughts in my head, startles me so. 

“Yes,” I answer, rubbing my eyes. 

“So am I.” 

“I can tell.” 

“I mean-” She sits up on the bed. “I’m awake-awake.” 

“Me too,” I say sitting up as well, not being able to make out much in the darkness. I feel the bed shift from under me. Arya jumps up, perkily, with more energy than she has any business having so late in the night. 

She bends over me abruptly, before I can say anything. Crawling over me, as she reaches for something. Her knees dig into my thighs as she leans towards the bedside counter. I groan, the discomfort of her knees pressing into my thighs would be unbearable if it were anyone else. “Sorry, sorry!” She calls out as she leans in all shaky. I place my hands on her stomach, to steady her and watch as she turns on the oil lamp with a candle lighter before defusing the growing flames with a few turns. 

“Well, I could’ve done _that_,” I say and she turns to face me, her face flushed and smiling as she throws the lighter back on the counter. 

Arya lifts her weight off me, her bare legs on full display as she does so. Her shirt reaches her mid-thigh but leaned over as she is, I could see her hips and her cotton underwear. She moves backwards, crawling back to her spot beside me. 

I lean back and exhale as a dim yellow light glows up the room. I attempt to compose myself, looking away from Arya at once, pretending like I didn’t notice anything. I feel her eyes on me as I look elsewhere. I spot Ghost laying in front of Nymeria, Nymeria covered from mine and Arya’s sight, like he’s trying to shield her, hide her, keep her for himself. I rub my eyes, much too harshly. I feel as she sits back, slipping her legs back under the covers. I shiver as her cold skin touches mine. 

“What should we do?” She asks, as she wiggles her toes on my legs from under the covers, and scoots on closer. The gesture wouldn’t have meant anything before, but as of late, everything she did, any slightly endearing thing, felt _torturous_. 

I bring my knees up and bring my pillow over my lap. I feel the bed’s wooden headboard digging into my back. “I don’t know, Arya. It’s late. The night guards are militant folk. There’s nothing they’ll let us do in the building at this hour.” 

“Well, they’re not so hard to avoid.” 

“The guards aren’t too keen about you. They’ll be on the lookout.” 

“I’m not scared of some stupid _ guards _.” 

I find myself smiling already. “I know.” 

I finally take a look at her. A proper look. Her hair’s a right mess, as usual, strands this way and that. Her t-shirt is too big for her. And her big gray eyes are concentrated and _ curious_. I can’t look away, I can’t look away and she notices. I can tell by the way her cheeks turn scarlet.

“Stop staring!” She shouts, pinching my arm and it only makes me grin wider. 

“Sorry,” I say rubbing my eyes again in attempts to constrain myself. 

“And stop smiling so much!” She says pinching my stomach this time, and even though I’m not looking at her, I can tell she’s got that little smirk on, that little smirk she wears so well. I turn to face her, and find exactly what I thought I’d find, and _ more _ . Her expression suddenly shifts into something else. _ Focus_. _ Curiosity_. She tilts her head, and this time it’s _ her _that’s staring.

“What are _ you _looking at?” I ask, staring right back at her, unflinching. 

“It doesn’t feel so nice, does it?” She asks leaning in, continuing to stare. 

I cross my arms over my chest. “I don’t mind it, actually,” I say truthfully, looking at her with wide unblinking eyes. I notice the corner of her lips begin to twitch like she’s struggling to not smile. I narrow my eyes as I study her closer and she does the same, even crossing her arms over her chest in the same manner as me.

“I can do this all day.” 

“You mean all night.”

“All day and all night.” 

Arya smirks but holds her stare, but I’m too fixated with the sight of her to tease her about it. Her little pink lips are plump and pretty. I watch as she runs the tip of her tongue over them before going back to bite her bottom lip _again_. I hadn’t noticed how close we were to one another until this moment. I feel her breath on mine and can almost hear her heartbeat. Or perhaps it’s my own that I’m hearing. I notice her neck, her collarbones, how her breath is making her chest move in and out so slowly. The last thing I notice is the golden chain around her neck. 

“Ah!” She says pointing to my face. “You lost.” 

“I did not,” I say, my tone monotone as my attention averts elsewhere. 

“_Oh don’t be so sore, Jon _.” She teases. 

Her triumphant smile turns into an entirely new expression as I brush her hair out of her face, and pull out the long necklace that’s tucked inside her shirt. I realize I’ve noticed it before just thought nothing of it until now. Arya makes a sound, so distinct I almost miss it, but I hear it nonetheless and feel myself stir. I swallow as I stroke the golden necklace, moving down the length of the chain until I reach the radiant pendant glistening gold._ The half-heart pendant. _

“Where’d you find this?” I ask rubbing the heart in circles with my thumb. I look up at Arya and notice she’s stiff. Her cheerfulness in her eyes turns back into melancholy. And suddenly I feel awful for having even asked. 

“The house … in the Wolfswood.” Her voice sounds strained. Though her expression remains unyielding and _brave_. 

“Who gave it to you?”

“It doesn’t matter.” 

“_Gendry_,” I confirm releasing it. I sigh. I throw the pillow on my lap behind me and plop down on the bed on my back. 

_ Oh don’t be so sore, Jon, _ I think_. _I yawn and rub my eyes. “I think we should try to sleep,” I say suddenly not in the mood for anything cheerful. 

“Oh, no way.” Arya persists. “Jon. It’s not-” I look up at her as she freezes and looks at me like she’s about to do something willful. She reaches for the back of her neck, her eyes concentrated on me. I watch as the golden necklace slips off her creamy skin. She catches it before it can fall and plants it on my belly, carefully. “There,” she says, “now it can’t make you all sad.” 

I feel my heart crashing through my chest. Arya leans over and smiles, almost sadly. I grab the necklace in a fist and throw it on the counter beside my gun, the lamp, my holster, and her dagger, _the dagger I gave her before I left her_. 

I turn back to her. “_Arya_,” her name slips out of my mouth. 

“What?” She asks softly. 

“Would you ever leave this place? With me?” 

“But-” Her eyes look worried all of a sudden. 

“Arya. Would you?” 

She nods. “_Yes_ ... Jon, is something wrong?”

“Of course not. I don’t want you to worry. I just-” 

“I mean, _yes_, but ... Hot Pie might be a bit difficult to convince. But I don't think Gendry-“ 

“_Gendry _?” 

“Yes-”

“Forget it.” 

“What?” 

“Nothing. Forget I said anything. It’s nothing. _Truly_ nothing.” 

“_Liar_.” 

I sigh. “_Arya_.” 

“Jon, tell me what you're thinking.” Her voice is forceful now. "_Tell me_." 

I hesitate for a moment, but her eyes are so comforting, so lovely, and genuine. 

“Do you love Gendry? In _ that _way?” 

She swallows. She looks taken aback for a second _and then ..._

“In the way that I love you, you mean?” 

“I don’t know. Which way would that be?” 

“I suppose,” It comes out as a whisper, “_All _ the ways.” She flushes and looks down, looking almost shy. 

“All of them?” I ask softly, a certain sleepiness overtaking me suddenly. 

“_All_,” She confirms, nodding. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
